Second Chances
by Celtic Quill
Summary: Rachel's in a slump after Finn dumped her; it seems like nothing can cheer her up. What happens when a certain ex-boyfriend comes back into the picture? Will he tear her and Finn even further apart, or bring them back together? Also Quinn/Puck & Emma/Will
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hello all! :D This is my first ever _Glee _fanfic! I really, really hope I captured the true essence of the characters, have believable dialogue, etc. I also hope you guys really, really enjoy reading this. :) Please show me your support by reviewing! I can't say this enough: I love reviews!

**Summary: **Rachel's in a slump after Finn dumped her; it seems like nothing can cheer her up. What happens when a certain ex-boyfriend comes back into the picture? Will he tear her and Finn even further apart, or bring them back together?

**Subplot Summaries: **Puck can't get Quinn out of his head, but is it too late to start over with her? And Will battles his feelings for a newly married Emma while betting Sue that she can't go a week without being mean to him.

**Main Pairings: **Rachel/Finn; Rachel/Jesse

**Minor Pairings: **Quinn/Puck; Emma/Will

_This story begins two weeks after "_A Very Glee Christmas" – _the day back to school from Christmas break._

* * *

Chapter One

The mirror had to be lying.

There was no other explanation for the reflection it showed: a zombie, staring back at Rachel Berry with sunken, expressionless eyes and dark hair with roots that were beginning to limp with grease from a lack of being washed.

Rachel took a step back, perplexed. She stared at her bathroom mirror – it was gigantic, stretching across an entire wall, mounted over her glitteringly clean sink. It was one of those fancy mirrors Broadway stars have in their dressing rooms: bordered with large, round fluorescent light bulbs casting a warm glow against the hot pink frame.

Rachel took a step forward, then another, and another, slowly, until her hipbones were cutting against the counter of her sink. She gaped at her reflection. But, no…it couldn't possibly be _her_, could it?

Where was the determined _gleam_ in her eyes? The gleam of a star-in-the-making. Where was the radiant, raring-to-go flush of her cheeks? Her spark had died. She didn't look like the flaring, legendary supernova she knew herself to be – she looked…dim.

_That_ was it. It looked like her inner light had snuffed out.

She leaned further forward, pressed the palms of her hands against the mirror. Moist palms greeted cool glass. She stretched her neck forward; her hair swung against her shoulders. She got right into the mirror's face, confronting this zombie image.

She pressed her nose onto it, puffed air from her nostrils; her breath fogged the glass.

"Rachel, sweetie!" one of her dad's called up. "You're going to be late for school if you don't get a move on."

She was yanked from her reverie, so startled that she jumped away from the mirror and collided with her bathroom door. She hurriedly darted out of her room, flicking off the light and shutting the door firmly behind her.

Her heart raced. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase that horrible image. It was the only time she'd ever seen herself look so terribly uninspired. Like her spunk and charisma had been drained out of her, leaving her this empty vortex of wasted talent.

And it was all because of Finn Hudson.

He'd dumped her just before Christmas break. Sure, one might say she had it coming, after hooking-up with his ex-best-friend, Noah "Puck" Puckerman. But she never would've done it if he hadn't had sex with that disgusting female-dog, Santana Lopez!

Finn hadn't just broken her heart – he'd annihilated it, gone Nagasaki on it, and then stomped repeatedly on its splintered remains.

Rachel took a deep breath, inhaling strength and exhaling negativity. She tried some yoga breathing techniques, closed her eyes, and visualized herself singing on stage to a crowd of people weeping at her immeasurable talent.

"Rachel! If you don't hurry up, _you're going to be late_!"

"All right, Dad!" she called back. She then grabbed her backpack, slid her feet into a pair of dark red ballet flats with tiny black bows on them, and hurried downstairs.

* * *

The fresh, heady scent of ground coffee beans kissed Will Schuester's nose as he entered the teacher's lounge. He poured himself a cup of the steaming black liquid and added his desired amount of creamer and sugar. As he did so, his eyes swept the room for a certain redhead with a penchant for wearing cardigans.

Unfortunately, she wasn't there; he did, however, spot Coach Beiste reading the school newspaper and sipping from her mug of coffee at a table near the window.

Will went and took a seat across from her. "'Morning, Coach," he smiled. "Have a nice break?"

"Of course it was nice," Beiste chuckled. "Problem was, it wasn't nearly long enough."

"I hear ya," Willa laughed, raising his cup in the air as a brief toast.

"Well, that's a relief," said a familiar dry voice. "I was worried that mop of static electricity and wire on your head has been cutting off your hearing. Now I _know_ my rapier wit isn't falling on deaf ears."

Will and Beiste looked up to find none other than Sue Sylvester – wearing a brand new track suit of black satin with hot pink stripes down the sides – striding into the room, carrying her own special ceramic thermos she'd brought from home.

Will resisted the intense urge to roll his eyes at her comment. "Hello, Sue. Were your holidays well?"

Sue narrowed her eyes at him and approached his and Beiste's table. "They were until I saw that my wish someone would buy you a can of motor oil and a pick-ax for your ungodly hairdo didn't come true."

Will's fingers curled tightly around his drink; he bit back a smart remark that itched the tip of his tongue. One of his top New Year's resolutions was to not let Sue rile him. It was only the first day back, and already he was having a difficult time with it.

"Don't mind her," Beiste said to Will as she turned to the next page of her newspaper. He tone was innocent and casual. "She's just bitter because Santa put coal in her stockings." She raised her eyes to share an amused smirk with Will.

Sue's facial expression remained stony, though the tendons along her neck were considerably more prominent than a moment ago. "That might've upset me, Beiste-y, except for I refuse to believe in a red-suited fat man who both perpetuates our society's tolerance with obesity and corrupts our capitalist government by rewarding children not on their contribution to our nation, but rather on their debatable _moral integrity_." She said these last words as if they were something particularly nasty.

Sue slurped from her thermos, drawing solace from her protein shake. "No sir, Sue Sylvester depends only on ol' reliable here for her Christmas presents," she jerked her thumb toward her own chest, "one Sue Sylvester."

"That's the most depressing thing I've ever heard," Will said.

"You know, Sue, while you talking in third person is _charming_ and all, I'm trying to read here," said Beiste pointedly. She made a show of rustling her newspaper and holding it in front of her face.

"I wouldn't believe any of those articles if I were you," Sue said in a tone that implied she held great knowledge. "Everyone knows the school newspaper office has been run by lying commies as far back as Kennedy's fake assassination involving a rubber bullet and a large fog machine."

And with that, she pivoted on her heel and marched from the lounge, leaving Will and Beiste to stare at each other in disbelief.

* * *

Rachel usually enjoyed school. She was exceptionally bright and was never shy with doling out the answers. One of the reasons she had such sculpted arms was because they were constantly shooting up into the air in her classes. Rachel _always_ got the answer right, of course.

But today, she hadn't been answering as many questions. Mainly, it was because she couldn't concentrate on anything other than the fact that she loved Finn and would continue to love him until the day she drew her final breath (while wearing a beautiful white dress and an array of innocent, metaphorical flowers in her hair, of course), but Finn didn't love her anymore. Probably never had, if he wasn't willing to fight for their relationship.

Right now, Rachel was in American History class. Her school didn't offer an Advanced Placement curriculum, since most of her jock-brain classmates were not nearly smart enough. They could hardly pass remedial, as it was.

So Rachel had to be in standard classes, which she sometimes loved because it guaranteed her to always be the best and smartest, but sometimes she was irritated by being the _only_ one happy to participate.

Used to, American History was her favorite subject solely because she shared it with Finn. The assigned seating even had him sitting right in front of her! But today she dreaded attending this class, because she was tortured with having to stare at the back of his beautiful head for fifty minutes, trying her hardest to focus on the lesson plan but only able to think about how much she missed him.

It was all so tragic, this bittersweetness of hating being near Finn but loving it as well. Usually, Rachel loved anything that was tragic, so long as it was dramatic enough. But she was tired of the way her heart felt heavy and waterlogged around him, and how she could barely contain the urge to burst into one of those you-really-missed-out-on-me type break-up songs in the middle of class.

The teacher, a short man with elf-like ears, finished writing off the designated page numbers on the board with so much gusto that bits of chalk flew from his hand. "All right, class!" he spun around and grinned at his students. Rachel admired the fact he – Mr. Palermo – actually _liked_ to teach.

They left off before Christmas break with studying the Cold War. "Who can tell me what we discussed all last class before the holidays?"

Rachel knew the answer, of course: The Bolshevik Revolution. She wanted to raise her hand and answer the question, impress Finn with her endless supply of knowledge. But what if it made Finn annoyed with her? What if it made him loathe her even more?

Still, Rachel Berry wasn't going to let _anyone_ stand in her way of glory and a possible gold star on her report card. Especially not the boy who had tossed her heart into a blender and turned it up on its highest setting.

Even after this inward turmoil, Rachel's hand still shot up faster than anybody else's. (Probably because no one else cared to raise theirs at all.)

"Ah, Miss Berry, of course," Mr. Palermo smiled kindly at her. He always appreciated her eagerness to answer questions, but he figured he should give someone else a chance.

Rachel rolled back her shoulders and cleared her throat importantly, feeling that familiar rush of being in the spotlight. She tried not to notice the way Finn stiffened and curled his shoulders forward, as if she could give him cooties.

But before she could respond, Mr. Palermo said, "I appreciate how you're always willing and able to help, but how about I ask someone else? Someone like…Mr. Hudson?"

"Uhm…I don't know the question," Finn mumbled. His voice sent shivers all down Rachel's spine; her heart squeezed painfully, and she fell back in her seat like a deflating balloon.

"What was our last lesson plan about?" Mr. Palermo repeated.

Rachel could picture Finn's eyebrows drawing together and his nose scrunching up; his adorable helpless look.

"I…I don't…are you sure I'm allowed to say it in class?"

Mr. Palermo looked confused. "I don't see why not."

"Well, I'm not even allowed to say it at home, so why would I be able to say it at school?"

Rachel was intrigued, and apparently so was the rest of the class, because they were all staring at Finn.

"Mr. Hudson, I assure you that you are allowed to say it."

"Well…we talked about the…Bullshi – "

Seeing where this was going, Mr. Palermo quickly cut in. "No, no!" he said. "The _Bolshevik_ Revolution, not the Bull…whatever you were going to say."

The class burst into laughter; Rachel saw the tips of Finn's ears flare bright red. Her heart went out to him; she felt the impulse to consolingly rub his back and tell him everything was going to be all right. But she wasn't his girlfriend anymore, and if she were to touch him, he would probably just recoil in disgust.

The thought was so upsetting to her that she completely blanked out the rest of the lesson.

Finally, the bell ring, signaling lunchtime.

Rachel took her time to gather her things. Why would she need to hurry out? It's not like she looked forward to lunch like she used to. She had no one to sit with – certainly not with Finn anymore.

Everyone else practically ran out of the classroom. Even Mr. Palermo quickly grabbed his lunch and headed to the teacher's lounge. He must not have noticed Rachel and Finn still lagging behind, because he turned off the lights and shut the door behind him.

Rachel pressed her books against her chest like a shield. Finn stepped into the aisle and swiped his supplies off of his desktop and into his strong, solid arms. Arms which had used to easily wrap around Rachel, encasing her in a safe cocoon of warmth and love.

She could feel her heart pounding against her chest, and her palms were fostering clammy beads of sweat. She was nervous. But she shouldn't be nervous with Finn; he was just _Finn_.

No. He might as well have been a stranger now.

She didn't know what possessed her to say it, but she blurted out, "Sure is dark in here, huh?"

Finn jumped about a foot in the air and dropped his things all over the floor. He muttered a curse word that almost identically matched the wrong answer he'd given earlier in class.

He whirled around, squinting down at her. The only light came from the sunshine filtering through the small square window on the other side of the room. The perfect bone structure of his face was cast half in shadow; he looked so beautiful that Rachel temporarily forgot how to breathe.

"You scared me!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry," she said with all of the meaning of her throbbing heart. She hoped he understood that she wasn't just talking about giving him a fright. "I'm so sorry, Finn, I – "

"Forget it, Rachel," he muttered, bending down to pick up his things at the same moment Rachel did. They ended up knocking heads.

Rachel's face was hot with the red blush spreading beneath her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she apologized again, though this time the words were a whisper so low it was almost inaudible to Finn. "I'm _so_ sorry." Only when a splash of moisture landed on the tip of her shoe did she realize her eyes had been filling with tears.

Finn quickly grabbed his textbook and notebooks before Rachel could. "It's fine," he mumbled. "I'll probably have a bruise on my head now, but whatever."

Rachel discreetly wiped away her tears. She felt her own head for a tender bump, but there was none. No, the only thing he'd bruised of hers was her heart.

She looked up, still crouched on the floor. He stood up and strode quickly out of the classroom, closing the door behind him with a bang. Her throat was thick with tears; her and Finn's first "conversation" since the break-up, and he didn't seem at all like he had come any closer to forgiving her.

She got to her legs, which were a bit shaky. She hurried out of the classroom and went to the library. She didn't feel like being in public and having to plaster on a mask of happy-go-luckiness around everyone. Rather, she'd eat her PB&J in the back and read through old biographies of Broadway legends to cheer her up. She sat down, suddenly craving a boost of protein from her healthy lunch.

As she peeled back the tinfoil from her sandwich, she remembered the time she and Finn had had a picnic in the park. He had contributed chocolate-dipped strawberries, his mom's homemade potato salad,…

…and smooth peanut butter and grape jelly on white bread. Just like what she was unwrapping now.

Rachel suddenly lost her appetite.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you to all of my readers! :D Especially to those who reviewed, because I love getting feedback. Please continue to review; I'd love to hear what your favorite line was of the chapter, which couple you're rooting for, etc. Or even what you think I could improve on. I just love hearing from you guys!

So I wasn't planning on updating today, since for the Christmas spirit, I was going to post tomorrow, Christmas Eve, _and_ Christmas day, but I'm too excited to post this chapter, and I might not get a chance to post Christmas Eve, so here you guys go! I hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

Chapter Two

"How was everyone's holidays?" Mr. Schue asked the Glee Clubbers as he set his book bag atop the shiny grand piano.

"My parents' big present to me was that they're getting a divorce," said Tina Cohen-Chang. "Is it bad that I liked that more than the pink dollhouse they got me?"

"My cousin's fiancé didn't know I'm in a wheelchair; he bought me a bike for Christmas," said Artie Abrams, one corner of his mouth curling up in a sheepish grin.

"I'm sick of all of this Christmas talk," Puck complained, sitting up straight and crossing his arms with an air of great indignity. "It's racist that Santa Claus discriminates against Jews! Why doesn't he bring _us_ presents?" He looked to Rachel as if expecting her to back him up, but she rolled her eyes and looked away.

"Hey, don't be mean to Santa!" Brittany objected. "He made Artie walk, remember? He probably didn't go to your house because you don't believe."

"Does Santa even go to trailer parks?" Santana asked.

"Hey! I don't live in a trailer!" Puck huffed. "Ask Quinn – she lived with me last year, remember?"

Sam Evans, Quinn's boyfriend, immediately shot Quinn an eyebrows-raised look: Explain. Now.

Quinn didn't even notice it though, because she was busy reaching over Brittany and Santana to slap Puck on his arm. His very _muscular_ arm, she begrudgingly thought.

"Shut up, Puck!" she snapped.

Mr. Schue rubbed his temples. When was the next vacation again?

"Come on, guys! Our first day back from winter break and you're already hounding each other," he protested.

He turned to the whiteboard at the front of the room, picked up a blue marker from its tray, and wrote "Passion!", underlining it twice for emphasis.

"Okay, let's start this off with, how is everybody _feeling_?" he asked.

"Bored," said Santana, inspecting her nails.

Puck was repeatedly poking Rachel on the back of her neck, for no other reason than that he, too, was bored.

"Annoyed," Rachel hissed, twisting around in her chair to slap Puck's hand away and scowl at him.

"Hungry," came the unexpected reply from Lauren Zises.

Seeing no other viable option, Mr. Schue jumped on this. "Great! Hungry! For what? Hungry to explore the world? Hungry to nab that next solo? Hungry for life's next great adventure?"

Lauren raised her eyebrows and gave him a look like he was crazy. "_No_," she said slowly, "_literally_ hungry. Like I want a cheeseburger. I haven't eaten since right after seventh period."

Santana looked up from her nails. "That was less than ten minutes ago."

"I know," Lauren said with a roll of her dark brown eyes. "I have low blood sugar – so sue me! I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand, Chicken Legs."

Santana looked like she was about to dole out a rude remark, so Mr. Schue quickly intervened.

"This week's assignment is 'passion,'" he said. "We _killed_ it at Sectionals, but it still wasn't good enough. I know we're better than a tie; we deserve to _win_ Regionals this time! I want us to light the fire of our loins by – "

Santana held up her hand as a disgusted look crossed over her face. "Stop right there! Before you make me sick. Teachers shouldn't be allowed to say the word 'loins,' especially when involving fire."

Mr. Schue ignored her; he'd long grown accustomed to Santana's sassiness.

"This week, I want you each to find a song that you're really _passionate _about! A song that expresses your innermost desires and wishes."

Rachel smoothed her hair with her palms, smacked her lightly-glossed lips together, and stood up. "I'd like to go right now, Mr. Schue." She had the perfect song in mind.

A genuine, sunny smile stretched across his face. "Great!"

Rachel walked over to the piano, stood in front of it, and faced Finn, who sat beside Mike Chang in the front row. She looked right at him as she spoke.

"I will be singing Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis."

"Oh, brother," Santana groaned, dramatically burying her head in her hands.

Rachel ignored her and nodded to the band to begin. The guitarist kicked off, and Rachel began singing from the very depths of her heart.

Her beautiful, pure voice filled the room, resonating in perfect pitch. She moved her arms, squeezed her eyes shut at the most powerful notes, and looked right at Finn the rest of the time.

Finn, however, was not looking back. A frown tugged downward on his mouth as he stared down at his knees. He kept knocking them together, apart, together, apart.

Mercedes and Tina sang back-up as Rachel flawlessly sang the incredibly high notes toward the end of the song. When Rachel polished off the song with that last, haunting note, everyone burst into applause. Everyone except for Santana and Finn.

Half of Rachel was exhilarated and ecstatic, that familiar performance high; the other half was extremely disappointed at Finn's reaction. She'd sung it for him! The song had been for _him!_

"_Wow_!" Mr. Schue exclaimed as Rachel climbed the risers to take her seat beside a grinning Mercedes. "That was incredible, Rachel! All of you take a page out of her book – _that's _what passion is all about!"

For the first time since Finn had broken up with her, Rachel beamed her trademark gigantic, happy smile.

Maybe things were looking up after all.

* * *

Glee practice ended and Finn made a mad dash to leave before Rachel could try to talk to him again. She shuffled out, her head hanging in a dejected way, pressing her books against her chest like a little girl.

Puck felt kind of bad for her. Sure, Rachel could be hella annoying and even he had to admit what she'd done to Finn was really low, but she was overall a cool chick. And kind of hot. Plus, Jews gotta stick together, right?

But all thoughts of Finn and Rachel's love drama were pushed aside when Puck saw Sam and Quinn leaving together, holding hands. He wondered if he'd managed to do any damage with that comment about Quinn living with him last year.

He hoped so.

It wasn't that Puck didn't like Sam. The guy's hair might've been suspiciously _too_ blond, and he might've smelled like a clean baby, but Sam was actually nice.

If only he wasn't with Quinn.

Puck hated to admit something like this…something vulnerable and lame…but he still had feelings for her. _Strong_ feelings for her. The kind of feelings like eating a bean burrito too quickly, and then you get really bad chest pains.

Quinn was his bean burrito.

Whoa, even Puck, someone scraping by English with a C-, knew that was a really lame metaphor. Or was it a simile? Whatever.

Anyway, he really _wanted_ her. And not just sex. Something more. Something profound.

Puck slung his backpack over his shoulder and trotted after the golden couple. They were nauseatingly perfect – both with blond hair, winsome smiles, and off-the-charts popularity. But it had to be so boring. Quinn had to be craving brooding, bad boy Puck. If her urges couldn't be sustained with Finn Hudson, who was arguably _the_ coolest guy in school, then why would she be able to resist Puck's charm now that she was with pretty boy Sam?

Puck quickly caught up to them; they were talking at Quinn's locker. He was glad they at least weren't kissing, although they did look pretty cozy.

"Hey, guys," he greeted, leaning against Quinn's locker so that the door shut.

She lowered her eyelids at him, both offended and disgusted. As if he was beneath her. A chewed piece of bubblegum with someone else's hair in it that had stuck to the bottom of her Prada heel.

"I wasn't done with my locker," she said, annoyance dripping from her tone.

_Smooth, Puckerman,_ he scolded himself. He suddenly felt foolish – he didn't really have a good excuse for being over here right now.

"I just wanted to ask what you guys were going to do with the Glee assignment," he said. He hoped he wasn't coming off as a totally desperate loser.

"Quinn and I were actually thinking of doing a duet," Sam smiled.

"Babe!" Quinn giggled, poking him in the chest. "That was supposed to be a secret!"

Puck sucked in his cheeks and let them out with a noisy pop. "You guys are boring me," he said. "I'm gonna go."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Then leave."

Puck had been hoping she would've asked him to stay and then directed the conversation toward him, but he knew that had been an unreasonable thing to wish for.

"See you at practice," Sam said.

"Yeah," Puck nodded once. He turned to go, casting one last look over his shoulder at Quinn.

When their eyes met, she quickly looked down at the floor, something strangely like guilt crossing her features.

Puck squared his shoulders and walked away. But he wasn't going down without a fight.

* * *

Quinn watched Puck walk away. There was a weird feeling, like a tugging right beneath her heart. She occupied herself with lacing her fingers around Sam's neck and drawing him in for a sweet kiss.

But rather than close her eyes when kissing Sam, Quinn's remained wide open.

Staring after Puck's retreating form.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I want to say thanks to all my readers and reviewers. You guys never fail to exceedingly brighten my day! XD Please keep the reviews coming, as they really inspire me to update faster. I also appreciate constructive criticism, so if there's anything you think I need improving on, don't be shy to (politely) tell me. :D

**Oops: **So I just found out before posting this that Dalton Academy is a boarding school. O_o How had I missed that? I thought it was just a school, and Kurt still lived at home? Anyway, in my particular fanfic, Kurt goes to Dalton but lives at home, because his part is far too important to delete from this chapter (and I love him too much!).

And onward we go! :)

* * *

Chapter Three

Monday evening, Finn was lying on his back atop his unmade bed, tossing a hacky sack up in the air repeatedly.

His step-brother, Kurt Hummel, was in their adjoining bathroom, performing his evening moisturizing routine. Finn didn't even know what _moisturizing_ consisted of, but he had a good idea it was something he wouldn't like.

The bathroom door connecting with Finn's room was open so he and Kurt could talk to each other. Kurt used the very tips of his fingers to massage the expensive white cream into his cheeks.

"Hey, Kurt," said Finn. "Can I...can I ask your advice on something?"

"Go ahead." Kurt smiled to himself, certainly intrigued and glad that Finn was confiding in him. Like real brothers would do.

"It's about Rachel."

"Oh," said Kurt. That single word hung between them in heavy silence for an awkward moment.

"What?" Finn asked uncertainly, sending the hacky sack into its highest arc yet.

"Aren't you the one supposed to be asking the questions?"

"Yeah, but why did you say 'oh' like that?" Finn inquired, puckering his brow. "You know, like..._oh_." He tried to imitate Kurt's doomsday tone.

Kurt heaved a sigh and readjusted the pale pink headband holding back his hair. "Listen, Finn, as much as I like to pretend I harbor tender relationship wisdom like Cupid or Carson Kressley, we both know I'm not exactly an expert in the dating game. Really, I'm hardly a contender; I'm one of those pathetic people in the studio audience eating processed, salty peanuts who laughs when the electronic sign tells them to."

Finn caught the hacky sack and used his elbows to hoist himself into a sitting position. "It's just…I'm so confused."

Kurt arched one eyebrow and smirked; Finn rapidly shook his head at this.

"No, no, not in _that_ way! Not that _that_ way is bad or anything, you know – "

"Though your helpless babbling is endearing, I suggest you get to the point."

"The point is…" Finn exhaled a loud breath. "I still like Rachel. Like, really, _really_ like her. I think…no, I know…I'm in love with her."

Kurt stopped patting his moisturizer onto his chin, his eyes widening. "Oh. This is serious." But then he shrugged and went back to his facial. "Though not at all surprising. Come on, everyone knows you and Rachel are in love. You guys are like a way less fabulous– and I mean _way _less fabulous – version of Sonny and Cher…in your own weird little way."

"You think?" A small smile graced Finn's lips, though he didn't know if Kurt had just complimented his and Rachel's relationship – er, _past_ relationship – or not.

"I _know_," Kurt corrected.

"But I don't know what to do," Finn sighed. "I love her and all, but I need to have some self-respect, too. What she did was really bad, and I don't know if I'm ready to forgive her."

Done with his moisturizing, Kurt applied a soft coat of Burt's Bees Beeswax Lip Balm, rubbed his lips together, and pouted dramatically at his reflection before replying to Finn.

"I hate to break it to you, but you're hardly an innocent pink bunny here," said Kurt, slipping off his headband and gently fluffing his hairline to give it a boost. "If you hadn't had sex with Slutana, you and Rachel would still be annoyingly chirpy little love birds."

Finn frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "I know it's partly my fault, but – "

"But _what_?" Kurt interrupted, rolling his eyes and flicking his hair. _Ooh_, that looked fabulous. Kurt rolled his eyes at his reflection and flicked his hairline again. Definitely fabulous. He wondered if Blaine would find that look sassy and attractive...

"Kurt! Please, focus!"

"Sorry," he said, snapping out of his reverie. He stood up from his black swiveling stool and put up his nighttime products in their designated cupboard. Then, he went into Finn's room and sat down at the end of his bed.

Finn barely stopped himself from lifting his eyebrows at the very fluffy bathrobe Kurt wore, such a light shade of pink that it was almost white. It resembled one of those pale pastel mini-marshmallows.

Kurt sat with his legs crossed in a prim fashion. He folded his hands in his lap and fixed Finn with a knowing look. "What I was saying, dear brother, is that you can hardly blame all of your relationship woes on Rachel. If the shoe fits..."

"But me and Rachel weren't even together then!" Finn huffed, pounding his fist on his mattress like a petulant child. "And I thought she was doing it with Jesse."

"That doesn't matter; Rachel's feelings are still extremely hurt. Though considering Rachel's emotional maturity is even more underdeveloped than that of a baby duckling, I'd say that's not exactly something new. The main thing is, you both screwed up, even if _you_ don't want to take responsibility for your actions. It doesn't matter who was the _most_ wrong; you say you love her, so act like it! You're pride is getting in the way of your happiness."

Finn gaped at Kurt, taken aback by his insightful rant.

Kurt lifted his chin importantly. "Why are you looking at me like that? I am _gay_, you know – from what I've heard, we're notorious for giving out uncanny advice on heterosexual relationships."

"So you think I should forgive her?" Finn clarified. He had to admit, thinking about forgiving Rachel and being able to hold her hand again and kiss her made him feel lighter. Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he was now allowed to be happy.

"I think you should forgive her, but take things easy with your relationship. You don't want to get in over your head again. Just stay true to yourself." Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and brought his hand to his forehead. "Oh, God. I just sounded like an extremely sappy, cringe-inducing Hallmark card, didn't I?"

Finn laughed and slugged Kurt lightly on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. I'm glad I have someone to talk to about this stuff."

Kurt lowered his hand and met Finn's eyes with his own. They shared a smile of brotherly affection, a warm moment of strengthened trust.

Now if Kurt could only bring himself to ask Finn for advice on how to get things progressing with Blaine...

* * *

The next morning, Will arrived at school earlier than he normally did. Emma had been absent yesterday, and Will, knowing she always was one of the first people in the teacher's lounge each morning, hoped to have some alone time with her today.

He walked into the lounge and, sure enough, munching on a bagel with cream cheese at her usual table, sat Emma Pillsbury…well, now she was Pillsbury-_Howell_. The reminder made Will's stomach turn as he made his cup of coffee.

He had to stop himself from running over to her table to see her. He took the seat across from her, half-expecting her to have a red nose and puffy eyes from being out sick yesterday. But she looked far from someone who had just recovered from a serious illness.

Rather, she was positively _glowing_. There was no other way to describe it – she seemed to radiate from the inside-out, as if she had drunken a glass of sunshine this morning. She was so beautiful with her auburn hair looking silkier than ever, and her amber-colored eyes sparkling in this endearing way like she had a wonderful secret.

"Hey, Emma," Will said, trying to inject as much nonchalance into his tone as possible. Really, he was dying with curiosity – where had she been yesterday? And why did she look so incredibly happy? He forced a casual smile and sipped from his coffee. "Good morning."

Emma smiled dreamily, her eyes staring down at her bagel. "It is, isn't it? A good morning; no, a _fantastic_ morning!"

Will's grin was uneasy; sure, he truly did love seeing her so blissful, but there had been a time when _he_ had been the one to make her smile like that. But he knew that he wasn't the reason for her great spirits this morning.

"You look like someone just told you they found a way to get rid of all the germs in the world," said Will.

Emma laughed at this – the sound was light and airy; her eyes lit up beautifully.

"So I'm taking it you're better?"

Still grinning like a fool (a _beautiful _fool, Will thought), Emma's eyebrows knitted in slight confusion. "'Better'?" she inquired, as if the word were from a foreign language. "Why would I need to be 'better'?"

"I just assumed since you weren't here yesterday, you had to have been sick," Will explained, his heart sinking. It's not like he had _wanted_ Emma to be sick, but it was better than the alternative – her spending time with Carl. Her new…her new _husband_.

"But when I think about it, I guess that really is ridiculous because someone with as good of hygiene as you would probably never get sick," Will added, more to himself than to her.

Emma giggled. "Oh, Will, I wasn't sick. But don't tell Figgins that." She paused, looked left and right, and leaned in conspiratorially. "I was playing hooky!"

Will couldn't help but to genuinely laugh; the idea of sweet Emma skipping school and then giggling so innocently about it was way too adorable. "Really?"

"Yeah; Carl and I took our honeymoon over Christmas break, and we didn't get back until very early yesterday morning. I was too tired to come into work, so Carl and I slept in and then spent the whole day with each other."

Will's smile froze on his face. "Really? That – that's great." His voice sounded thin and tight, but Emma didn't seem to notice. She was too busy smiling down at her bagel again.

Will's knuckles whitened around his coffee cup. He was drowning in this awkward silence; couldn't Emma see it?

And of course, to add insult to injury, none other than Sue walked in. Today, her tracksuit of choice was dark red. "Hey, William, is that a new vest? It's hideous. I wouldn't use that thing to wipe my excrement, for fear of getting a rash that reeked of your poverty."

Will remembered his New Year's resolution, but he was in such a sour mood that it was exceedingly difficult not to snap at her. He gritted his teeth so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if they turned into powder.

"Oh, how attractive you look when your bottom teeth jut out like that, William!" Sue said mock-sweetly, holding her hands beneath her chin and widening her eyes. "Like the confused look a bulldog gets when it smells its own gas. Though with that bramble bush atop your head, I pegged you as more of a poodle."

Only fantasizing about hurling his coffee cup at Sue's head could help Will to remain calm.

Sue turned her calculating eyes to Emma. "Irma, it's nice to see you looking like someone other than those tiny adult actors they show for UNICEF commercials, trying to trick us with their big, sad eyes into believing they're needy children so we'll dole out the big bucks.

You know the only charity Sue Sylvester gives her hard-earned money to? The International Organization for William Needs a Haircut. To date, we've raised enough moolah for me to…oh God, Will, you're vest is so awful that I can't even finish my sentence."

Emma stared at Sue. "Was there a compliment for my happiness buried way, way down there?"

Sue ignored her. "You know, William, your lack of speech has left me more torn than Janet Jackson's brassiere at that fateful Super Bowl show; your silence is the famed nipple ring disgracing my otherwise beautiful performance of wisecracks and hilarity.

I don't know whether to take your stubborn mutism as evidence that there is a merciful God, or if I should be worried that your hair has gotten so out of control that it's snuck down your windpipe and you're choking on it as I speak."

Will took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said, "I'm not going to let you bait me anymore, Sue. One of my New Year's resolutions was to not be riled by you."

"What were your others? Win the prize for McKinley High's Worst Dressed? You've succeeded there. Make nothing out of your life and teach a bunch of booger-eating losers who sing about their feelings? Congrats, you've done that as well!"

"Sue, that's enough!" Emma snapped, surprising everyone – including herself. She continued on, however. "I'm not going to just sit here and listen to you constantly berate my friend. You're the meanest, nastiest person I have ever met, and I would very much like it if you left the room right now."

Will looked at Emma as if seeing her for the first time; lately, she had been making large strides with her newfound confidence, and it kept making her even sexier and more desirable to him (if that were even possible).

Sue narrowed her eyes, positively fuming. Bested by a clean-freak with abnormally large eyes resembling one of those government-spy Furby dolls? That was _not _acceptable!

"You know, Sue, I bet you couldn't go a week without being mean to me," said Will. "No, a week without being mean to _anybody_."

"I don't bet," Sue snarled. "Because I _always_ win. It defeats the purpose when you know who the winner will be, and it bores me."

"No," said Will with a delicious smirk, "you're not going to bet on this because you know you'll lose."

He'd hit the nail right on its head.

Sue's eyes flashed. "Don't you dare, William!" she seethed. "I will not be lured into your trap like some common village fool!"

She stormed from the room, her heart pounding. Bested twice in one setting? This was abysmal!

Maybe Sue would take that bet, just to shut Will and Ella up and prove that she _always_ won.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thanks to all you lovely readers and reviewers. I apologize that it's taken me a while to post this, but I've been busy what with Christmas and all. By the way, I hope your holidays were awesome. :D Please remember to leave me a review - they inspire me to update faster, and they make me happy. What more could you want? haha

By the way, the next chapter is mainly Puck/Quinn, so to all my fellow Quick fans, you can look forward to that. XP

**Disclaimer: **I forgot to add a disclaimer to this story, so: I only own the plot. There you go. :)

* * *

Chapter Four

The bell rang, signaling the end of American History. Rachel was so busy gathering her things that she didn't notice Finn hovering beside her, waiting for the rest of the class to file out so they could have a moment alone.

She tucked her books under one arm and looked up, her heart halting in her chest. In his dark blue sweater, Finn looked incredibly handsome. And he was actually _smiling_ at her, one corner of his mouth stretching lazily upward in that adorably bashful way of his.

"Hey, Rachel," he said quietly. He thought she looked extra-pretty today; her hair was in a ponytail, showing off her lovely face, and she wore a burgundy tunic that brought out the golden undertones of her complexion.

"Hi," she said shyly. Her heart started up again, now dancing in overtime.

"I just wanted to tell you that I forgive you," he said. "And I wanted to apologize; you may have really hurt me, but I really hurt you first, and I wasn't that sensitive to your feelings."

Rachel felt dizzy with giddiness and relief; her dreams had come true! Finn had forgiven her! And as a cherry atop this delicious sundae, he was actually admitting to his own wrongdoings, too!

"Thank you, Finn," she beamed, her expression outshining the Glee Club's Christmas tree (before Sue had ruined it). "I'm so glad we sorted this all out!" She dropped her books to her desktop and threw her arms around Finn's waist, burying her head against his chest.

His scent was wonderfully familiar; Rachel inhaled the cleanness of his deodorant, the subtly spicy musk of his cologne. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin gently atop her head. He, too, closed his eyes with contentment, breathing in her presence.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he said, his eyes still closed as he smiled to himself. A bit reluctantly, he drew away from her, his eyes fluttering open sleepily, not wanting to wake from this dream: he and Rachel, in love and together. But there was still something he needed to tell her….

"But Rachel…I think we should take a break."

Rachel's eyes snapped open as if awakened from a deep sleep by someone throwing a bucket of ice water on her. "_What_?" she cried. "But I thought we just got back together!"

Finn swallowed hard and ran his hand through his hair. Rachel dropped her arms from around his waist and folded them stubbornly over her chest.

"Look, Rachel, it's not that I don't want to get back together _eventually_, but right now just isn't a good time."

"When is it ever not a good time for our true love to foster upon our flowering youth, Finn?" Rachel demanded, blinking back tears. The metaphorical ice cream sundae of happiness had turned out to have a hidden worm crawling through it.

"I want to better myself for you," he explained. "And better myself for _me_. I've hardly ever been single since I started going to McKinley. I've always played a role: last year, it was Quinn's boyfriend, then Quinn's _baby daddy_, and now this whole year I've been your boyfriend."

"Well, I'm sorry dating me has made you lose your identity," Rachel said sarcastically, "because I thought I was dating the _real_ Finn Hudson, not some role you were playing."

"That's not what I meant!" Finn said quickly. "I _am_ my true self when I'm around you, Rachel; you bring out the best in me. But right now, I just think it would be best if I didn't have a girlfriend for a little while so I can become the man you deserve. Can you understand that?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Rachel grinned slowly. "How can I say no? But do you promise we'll get back together when you've sorted this out?"

"Of course," Finn smiled, relieved that Rachel understood him.

"And we can be friends in the mean time?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Just remember this, Finn," she said, suddenly serious. "I will wait for you, even if that means forever. I will _always_ love you."

Finn smiled at Rachel's dramatic flair; it's not like he was going to make her wait _forever_ – just a few weeks should suffice for him to get back on his feet.

"But you can't break my heart again," she said.

"Just don't break mine either," said Finn, smoothing his thumb across Rachel's silky bangs. He thought they looked really hot on her. "I will never hurt you again; I want you to know that."

Rachel's eyes closed against his gentle touch; his thumb traced slowly down her face, ending at her chin. He cupped it between thumb and forefinger, tilting her face toward his. His brought his lips to hers, giving her a soft, sweet kiss; they smiled against each other, mouths molding together.

Finn pulled away and kissed her on the forehead, his lips pressing so lightly against her smooth skin that she felt the tickle of his warm breath more than she felt the kiss itself.

"That was to hold us over while we're on a break," he said.

"I think that'll last a while," Rachel smiled, her heart soaring with happiness.

"Yeah," Finn said, grinning from ear to ear, "me too."

* * *

After that morning's debacle in the teacher's lounge – Emma swooning over her husband, Sue being typical Sue – Will had his reservations with entering the room for lunch.

Emma and Beiste were sitting at the same table, a chair unoccupied between them for Will. He tightened his grip on his brown paper bag, rolled back his shoulders, and marched toward them, like a soldier heading to war. He didn't know how much longer he could last acting like everything was okay between him and Emma.

He took his seat, nodding a hello toward his friends. "Hey, guys," he said, pulling out his sandwich. He noticed that Beiste looked different – there was a genuine sparkle in her eyes, and a smile that kept playing against her lips.

"What are you so happy about?" he asked, smiling. He was glad that Beiste looked sincerely joyful.

"Ooh, tell him, Shannon!" said Emma excitedly.

"Tell me what?" Will smirked, lifting one eyebrow.

"_Ohhh_, okay," Beiste chuckled. "Guess who has a date Friday night!"

"Sandy Ryerson?" Will joked, winking at Beiste. "Kidding, kidding. Wow, Beiste, that's great! Who's the lucky guy?"

"His name is Chuck; he works at my gym. I've always thought he was cute, but we'd never talked before. Well, yesterday, I was doing my bench presses and he came over and said, 'Wow, you bench press a lot…_for a girl_.' It wasn't until I was screaming in his face, threatening to knock him out, did I realize that he was flirting with me. We laughed about it, and then he asked if I wanted to see a movie with him on Friday night. And I said yes."

Emma squealed with delight; Will's grin widened, and he clapped Beiste on the shoulder. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Do my ears deceive me?" asked Sue, leaning over from the table beside theirs. "Does Beiste-y have a date? Somebody phone the San Francisco Zoo; Koko the gorilla's a bachelorette no more!"

Beiste grinned. "Sue, even your flapping lips can't bring me down."

"Of course, Beiste-y, as it would take a Mack Truck to take _you_ down," Sue said saccharinely, her innocent smile not matching the fire in her eyes. She batted her eyelashes.

Emma and Will both opened their mouths to come to Beiste's defense, but Beiste herself beat them to it. She laughed richly. "You know, Sue, you can make all the wisecracks you want, but it still remains that I have a date this Friday, and _you_ don't. And I think we all know why that is – you're sourer than a teenage boy's week-old gym socks, but rather than spout sweat, you spout meanness. Face it: no one wants to go out with a sourpuss."

Sue's nostrils flared wildly. Bested by the Beast! Oh, the humanity!

Her tone was low and deathly as she replied, "I'm sorry, Koko, but I don't know the sign language for 'you're pathetic.'"

"That's the best you could come up with?" Beiste rolled her eyes.

"You know what? I'm not going to sit here and take this. Sue Sylvester didn't spend a month living in the Amazonian Rainforest surviving only off of dead beetle carcasses and her sweet, palpable determination only to be ridiculed at the sweaty, fingernail-bitten hands of her yoyo inferiors!"

She got up, kicked her chair violently into the table, and strode pompously from the lunchroom.

But not before grabbing Beiste's bag of chips and crunching them in her fist, knocking Will upside the head, and quickly rearranging Emma's milk cartoon and container of grapes, which she'd had lined up according to height.

* * *

A few minutes later, Sue was in her desk chair, pouring her feelings into her journal.

_Dear Journal_, she wrote, her blank-inked pen digging extra hard into the page due to her fury. _Do you remember the day I told you that I would sooner eat your pages than be one-upped by the Beast again? Well, it happened today, and I hope you aren't going to hold me to my word, because I'm pretty sure this pen's ink is toxic. Seriously, it smells ass._ She paused to sniff the pen's tip, wrinkled her nose in disgust, and then resumed her writing.

_Guess what, Journal? Beastie's got a date. First that Elva girl, who is more Windex than woman, gets married to a dental hygienist beefcake whom is so delectable that even one Sue Sylvester would approve of him. And now the Beast has plans with a honey of her own!_

_Is it _me_, Journal?_ She underlined 'me' three times and drew a heart around it. _Is Beast actually right? Do I turn men off with my 'sourpuss' ways? Granted, I usually tune out what she's saying because she reeks so horribly of beef that all I can think about is sweaty bison when she's near, but perhaps my keenly-tuned ears picked up some of her grunts and automatically translated them into English for me._

_Was I meant to hear this? Maybe if I want to get out of this rut of being single, I should…dare I say it…be nice? _She underlined 'nice' three times and drew a frowning face above it.

Sue paused to tap the end of her pen against her chin, pondering this ridiculous notion.

_Remember what I told you William said? How he bet I couldn't go a week without being mean to anybody? What if he's right? _She wrote 'right' very tiny, hating to admit that Will Schuester could be right about anything.

_Perhaps what Sue Sylvester needs to do to get a man of her own is to be _– she took a deep breath and wrote the last word, though it pained her to do so – _nice._

_I guess that's what it's come to, Journal. I'm going to take Will up on his bet to hide why I'm really going to try to be…you know the word._

_Until Next Time,  
__Your Friend Susan_.

* * *

Later in the hallway, Sue passed by Will. She caught his elbow and whipped him around to face her.

"Listen, William, I'll take your stupid bet, but only on _my_ terms," she said. "Got it?"

Will looked perplexed. "What are you talking – oh, yeah, _that_ bet." He raised his eyebrows and bit back a smirk. "Really, Sue? You're seriously going to take me up on that, even knowing you'll lose?"

"Your idiocy is so profound that I can hear the wind whistling through your big, floppy Dumbo ears," she said. "What's that?" She cupped her hand to her own ear and leaned toward him. "It's singing the despicable tune of mediocrity."

Will rolled his eyes. "What are your terms, Sue?"

"If and when I pull off being nice for a week," Sue paused dramatically, a sinister smile creeping up her face, "you have to shave off that offspring of Chewbacca sleeping on your head."

"_What_?" Will cried, outraged.

"You're right; I'm sorry," Sue shook her head at herself. "_I _will be the one to shave it off."

"No way!"

"I should've known you wouldn't be man enough to accept my terms; I always thought you _looked_ like a wrinkled chicken hatchling, but I didn't think you _were_ one."

Will's gaze became stony, and a fierce determination flamed within his eyes. "Okay, I'll accept your terms. _If_ you accept _my_ terms."

Sue narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Which are?"

"When _you_ lose, you have to pay the remaining fee for Glee Club's travel cost to Nationals in New York."

Sue scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Considering there's no way you'll win Regionals, let alone _Nationals_, I'd say your terms are glib and moronic. But I accept."

"I believe in us," said Will. "We _will _be going to Nationals this year, and we're going to bring home the first place trophy."

Sue didn't bother covering up the amused smirk stretching across her face; she even loudly snorted back an '_as if!_' chuckle.

Will held out his hand to shake with her; Sue lifted her eyebrows at his gesture. "I'd sooner spend a day with the offensively bootylicious Kardashian sisters than touch anything of yours."

"It's not official unless we shake on it."

Sue begrudgingly locked hands with him. They both had a bone-crushing grip, staring each other right in the eyes, pumping their arms like madmen.

"Now let go of my hand," Sue hissed. "I can feel my fingers turning brittle by the failure-juice flowing through your palms."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Thanks for reading and especially to those of you who reviewed. Please, please review! :D It really does inspire me to update faster. And I reply to each and every one, so your time is not wasted. :)

* * *

Chapter Five

After school, Puck passed by Quinn's locker and noticed with a burst of happiness that she was by herself. No Sam in sight.

He cleared his throat and slowly approached her. "Hey."

Of course, she was in her Cheerios uniform, and he tried not to look at her legs. He remembered a time when those very legs used to wrap around his waist as they'd made-out in the back of his car.

Quinn's neck turned toward him; her expression was completely unreadable. She'd been so guarded around him lately – it was a bit unnerving.

"Hello," she said coolly, turning her attention back to the rows of notebooks and folders perfectly organized within her locker.

"So, uh, I was going through my digital camera and deleting old pictures, and I saw a bunch of me and you. You know, when you were living with me, that one night where we sat around and goofed off and watched old movies just to make fun of them."

Quinn was quiet for long moment before saying, "I hope you deleted those, too."

Puck chewed on his lower lip. "Uhm, no, actually, I printed them out." He pulled a white envelope from an inner pocket of his red letterman's jacket. "Here, I even brought you some."

He held it out to her gingerly, as if afraid she might bite his hand.

Quinn looked at him, really _looked_ at him, and for a moment the walls of her eyes were lowered to reveal what she was feeling. She looked kind of sad and conflicted.

"Thank you," she said formally, taking the envelope. Puck expected her to toss it carelessly in her locker or, even worse, the nearby trashcan, but rather she daintily peeled open the flap with her pinky.

She pulled out the six photographs inside and flipped through them. She was surprised by how much fun they were having, how gleeful the two looked; in one of them, they actually looked like your typical happy-go-lucky high school couple, in love with the whole world for their taking.

And in another, Puck's hand was gently rested on her sizeable belly, and as her head was tipped back from the force of her laughter, he was looking at her as if she were the most important, most beautiful person on earth.

As if he loved her.

When she thought back to living with Puck during her pregnancy, she only remembered the bad times. How annoying he could be. How his mom made her follow a strict kosher diet even though Quinn was Christian. And how she'd cried herself to sleep many a night, wishing she was back home in her own King-sized bed of finest silk sheets, wishing that her parents hadn't abandoned her in her greatest time of need, and praying for strength to go on and get through another day.

But now that she thought about it and stared down at these photos, living with Puck hadn't been all storm clouds and misery. When her hormones hadn't been so out of whack and testy, she and him had shared some really nice moments and had fun together.

She realized she'd been lost in her own world and that her emotions were probably written all over her face. She looked up from the pictures to see Puck looking at her, peering up from his long eyelashes seriously.

It was the same way he'd looked at her in that one picture.

Her heart skipped a beat, and something warm and fuzzy crawled around in her stomach. She quickly turned away from him, putting the photographs back in the envelope and pretending to throw it to the back of her locker but really tucking it into her homework folder so she could look at them again when she got home from school.

She suddenly felt very bitchy, because there was no way she was going to embrace whatever leftover mushy-gushy feelings were floating around for Puck. She'd had a _baby_ with the guy; of course she was still going to care about him. It was to be expected, but it wasn't anything to be considered seriously.

She would rather be mean to Puck than to admit the battle of emotions warring within her.

"Why did you really come over here?" she asked, shooting him a nasty look. "To rub it in my face that I was pregnant last year? God, why can't you let the past go? You're always bringing it up – don't even get me _started_ on how you brought it up in Glee Club yesterday, _in front of Sam_!"

Puck felt anger flash through him. Why did Quinn have to be so difficult? Why was she being so rude? He'd done something genuinely _nice_ for her; didn't she see what a big gesture it had been of a 'bad boy' like Puck to go to the trouble of printing out pictures of the good times they'd had together? Those had cost twenty-five cents each!

"You're making a big deal out of nothing," he snapped. "Sorry I interfered between you and your precious Sam, but why do you act like I do everything I do and say everything I say _just_ to piss you off?"

Quinn folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to one foot. She stared down her nose at him. "As if _you_ would be able to weasel yourself between me and Sam. We're perfect for each other. He actually treats me like a dignified human being, not like some object."

Puck felt like Quinn had just slapped him. "Are you saying I treated you like an object? How could you even say that, Quinn? I was there for you when nobody else was! I held your hair back for you when you puked everyday from morning sickness! I went to _every freaking ultrasound _with you! And even when you were feeling fat and unwanted, I told you how pretty you looked!"

Quinn blinked rapidly, feeling hot tears pricking at the backs of her eyelids. She pressed her lips together into a thin, hard line. All of her muscles were rigid; if she moved so much as a finger, she would burst into tears.

Puck slowly placed his hand on her shoulder; his gentle touch was Quinn's undoing.

She slapped his hand off her. "GO AWAY!" she screamed, so loudly that everyone in the hallway turned to stare at them. Puck visibly flinched, taking a giant step back and almost colliding with another student's opened locker door.

Quinn slammed her locker door shut, not even bothering to get her things, and sprinted into the nearest girls' room down the hall.

"What the hell are you all looking at?" Puck yelled. "Mind your own business, or I'll punch your faces in!"

Slipping his fingers through his backpack straps and adjusting it higher up his shoulders, he spun around and marched in the opposite direction of Quinn, heading to the boys' locker room for football practice.

_Good_. He needed to let off steam and knock the crap out of some people right now.

* * *

Rachel sat on her bed after school, her legs tucked under her and her journal spread across her lap. She tapped her fuzzy blue pen – the color blue was known for inducing creativity, and the fluffy puff on the end was fun to tickle against her nose – against the page.

So far, all she had written was her name across the title line in large, capital block-letters. And, of course, there was the gleaming gold star sticker she'd put in the right-hand corner.

Rachel was trying to write a song. Lately, she'd been thinking about her impending fame and legendary Broadway status for when she was older, and she was wondering how she could get started now. Get even more of a proverbial leg up on the competition.

And then it'd hit her: write her _own_ songs. If bubblegum country singer Taylor Swift could do it, then by golly, so could exceedingly-talented Rachel Berry! Besides, everyone knew Taylor Swift had only gotten to be so famous and loved because she wrote her own songs; it's not like she could actually _sing_ better than Rachel.

But so far, songwriting had proven far more difficult than Rachel had anticipated. It should've been easy, considering how good she was at rhyming (most of the _timing_, she thought with a grin at how charming she was) and how she always sang straight from the heart.

Then how come she couldn't _write_ straight from the heart?

She couldn't think of a single way to start off. She'd tried brainstorming, but her pen hadn't moved an inch. She'd tried starting at different places from the song – the chorus, the bridge, the first verse, the last first: but nothing. She'd even tried writing about something extremely personal, like her love toward Finn, but her brainwaves had still remained without a blip of inspiration.

She decided to go to the music store and do some studying on the best songwriters of all time. Surely, she could learn from them.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, Rachel browsed through the records of the music store. She knew the main musicians whom she was here for, but she kept getting sidetracked. How could she not with so many great collections to choose from?

She'd gathered quite an armful of choices to take into the back and listen to on the private record players when a pair of warm hands covered her eyes.

She gave a jump and yelped.

"_Guess who_?" purred a voice that was strangely familiar, though she couldn't put her finger on why.

"Someone who has never heard of personal space?" she guessed sarcastically, growing irritated. Who was this person? She knew it wasn't Finn, and she didn't think it appropriate for some other guy to be playing these tricks on her.

The perpetrator laughed a laugh like warm, rich honey. "Fair enough." He dropped his hands from her eyes.

Rachel spun around to face him; she nearly dropped her stack of records when she saw who it was.

Jesse St. James.

"Jesse?" Rachel gasped. Her jaw dropped and her eyes practically popped out of her head.

"In the well-groomed, irresistible flesh," he grinned, doing a little twirl.

She could only gawk at him, feeling a bit faint from shock.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Wow, thank you _sooooo_ much for all of the incredibly kind reviews! They actually brought tears to my eyes. XD So please, keep 'em coming! I even appreciate constructive criticism - just so long as I'm getting feedback (obviously no flames, though).

* * *

Chapter Six

He was just as devastatingly gorgeous as Rachel remembered, if not more so.

Same brown curls falling into his dark eyes, which saw right through her.

A lean body dressed to the nines in a black leather jacket and pair of designer jeans.

That charming smile, so self-assured and confident and restless, as if he were constantly searching for life's next great adventure.

"Hello, Rachel," he said, grinning his trademark grin of cockiness and self-satisfaction. "Miss me?"

In response, she shifted all of her records under one arm.

And with her free hand, she slapped him swiftly on the face.

"_Ouch_," he winced, his hand flying up to ward off the next potential blow. "I guess not."

Rachel fumed at him, her hands on her hips (one of which was still stinging from that powerful smack), her eyes narrowing, and her lips curling back over her teeth like a rabid dog hungry to strike.

Oh, how she had imagined this moment! The moment when she would see Jesse St. James again after their disastrous break-up in which he used her and turned out to be a lying jerk.

She always imagined that it would be after she'd gotten done with a performance as the star on Broadway, a performance that oozed such talent that pregnant woman would go into labor in the audience and grown men would weep. And afterward, her arms overflowing with bouquets of roses and little teddy bears from her admirers, Jesse would come shuffling over to her.

And even though she imagined this not too far in the future, he would already be balding, have a beer belly, and reek of stale hotdogs. Basically, he would be a loser, and Rachel would be the ultimate winner.

And Jesse would beg her to take him back, but she would turn down his advances gracefully because that's just the sort of person she was, but Jesse wouldn't let up and would try to follow her backstage into her dressing room (which was bigger than any of the other cast members' dressing rooms, of course).

And seeing this, Finn would march over and punch Jesse, link arms with Rachel (who, of course, was his wife), and they would head off into the sunset together, leaving Jesse to sink to his knees and cry as he cursed the heavens for taking away his Rachel Berry.

Never had Rachel imagined seeing him again so soon, especially before she'd even graduated high school. Never had she imagined him still being on top of his game, looking handsome as ever without a single curl of his fabulous hair in danger of falling out.

She couldn't deal with this right now; not when her and Finn's relationship was not as solid as it should be, and not when she was already stressed out from not being naturally gifted at songwriting.

She pivoted on the heel of her golden ballet flats and began to stride off, her head held high and her ponytail bouncing.

Jesse caught her shoulder and spun her around, pulling her close enough that he easily could've leaned down and kissed her. Which he really wanted to. She looked more mature than the last time he'd seen her, hot rather than cute. It was the combination of her bangs, that same dramatic flair, and the fact that _she_ was actually turning _him_ down.

"Wait," he said. "I deserved that."

"No," said Rachel. "You deserved that _plus_ this."

And she slapped him again, even harder than before, especially due to their closer proximity.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Jesse held up his hands in defense, cringing again from the painful smack. "Are you done playing Whack-a-Mole with my face? Which, for the record, has never harvested a blemish _or_ a mole."

Rachel shook her head, causing her ponytail to fly wildly. She looked _really_ hot when she was angry. Especially since she was wearing this silk tunic of deepest burgundy today, which was a definite improvement from the stuffed-kitty sweaters of yore.

"You didn't just break my heart, Jesse," Rachel accused, "you shattered it into a million pieces and kicked dirt all over the remains. Only the true love Finn and I have was able to mend my heart and restore my broken spirit."

"Still the Drama Queen, I see," Jesse smirked both infuriatingly and beautifully. "Every queen needs her king, and I'd say we'd both agree that I am far better suited for the role of Drama King than Finn is."

"You demoted yourself to court jester after you used me and betrayed me."

"I loved you, Rachel," he said. "I still _do_ love you. But forgive me when I say that winning Regionals – and going on to win Nationals, as we did – was far more important to me than you ever were. It was my last year to be able to do so, and I couldn't let my team down. But more importantly, I couldn't let _myself _down.

Now don't look at me that way; you know if the roles had been reversed, you would've done the same. People like me and you, Rachel – sure, we're self-centered and selfish, but that's only because we know we're good enough to get away with it. I know what I did was wrong, but if the circumstances had been different, I never would've done anything to push you away. The one girl I've ever truly loved."

Rachel stared at him, unsure how to feel. Finally, she said, "You don't think I wanted to win Regionals just as badly? Probably even _more_ badly than you did, because my Glee Club isn't used to the glory yours has tasted for years! And I chanced everything for you, Jesse! I went against my teammate's wishes and went out with you anyway; I fell in love with you and believed you whole-heartedly; I even was willing to accept that Vocal Adrenaline might win and be happy for you if they did. But you spit on all of that when you _cracked an egg on my face!_"

Jesse's expression was illegible; Rachel heaved a sigh.

"What are you even doing here? Don't you have school in UCLA?" she asked, her tone tired. Finally getting all of those feelings off her chest had left her emotionally drained.

"We're still on winter break," he explained, "for two more weeks. I'm visiting my family. And I was hoping while I was here, I could visit you." He said this last part quietly, vulnerably. It was the first time Rachel had ever seen his arrogance and self-righteousness stripped away.

"But I now see that last part was a big mistake," he said, looking away from her. "I'll go now, Rachel. Despite what you think, I still care about you, and I would hate to cause you anymore pain."

Then he surprised her by planting a brief, tender kiss on her forehead. Like Finn's, it sent shivers all over her; not like Finn's, she could feel the pressure of his soft lips, and his kiss lingered for a heartbeat longer.

"Goodbye, Rachel," he whispered. "I will always love you."

Rachel watched as he walked off, his shoulders slumped and his hands in his pockets. She sniffled and blinked back tears, her heart racing against her chest. She collapsed into the chair of a nearby empty table, dumping the records onto the tabletop. Then, she covered her face with her hands and began to cry, not even really knowing what for.

* * *

Jesse might've been bummed that his reunion with Rachel hadn't gone as planned, but he had to admit, it would be more fun this way. Now, getting back together with her would be a challenge. And Jesse lived for challenges.

Sure, he really did care about her. He didn't know about _loving_ her, but he definitely _liked_ her enough to want to pursue things. To make things right. To possibly be able to really fall in love with her and do things right this time.

Still, when a guy loved himself as much as Jesse did, it was hard to find room to love somebody else, too.

Rachel had seemed pretty adamant about not wanting to give him another chance. But Jesse St. James didn't go down without a fight.

No sir, _if_ Jesse St. James even went down at all, it would be kicking and shoving, and he would quickly come back up swinging.

He found the store manager, whom he was well-acquainted with, and pulled him aside.

"Hey, Ernie, I was wondering if you'd do me a favor..."

* * *

Rachel was just wiping away the last of her tears and checking her reflection in her compact mirror to ensure it wasn't noticeable that she'd been crying (thankfully, it wasn't), when the music store's loudspeakers crackled. A voice came over the airwaves, smooth and charming and warm.

Jesse's voice.

She instantly sat up straight, her heart zooming. What was going on?

"Hello and good afternoon, dear music patrons," he said, and Rachel swore she could _hear_ him smiling. "Have you ever been in love? I mean _real_ love – the kind where you can't think straight, you can't sleep because you just want to be with that person, and you'd even name your new puppy after them. Well, I have, but I was stupid enough to screw up. Big time. And now I'd do anything to get my beautiful, funny, dramatic" he chuckled as if this last attribute were particularly charming to him "and _talented _girl back."

Rachel's palms began sweating and her throat started to turn dry; he couldn't possibly mean _her_, could he? But who else would he mean?

"Rachel Berry, this one goes out to you."

Okay, _that_ answered her question.

Jesse's wonderful, knee-weakening singing voice filled the speakers, accompanied by an acoustic guitar laying out the tune.

"_You're just too good to be true; can't take my eyes off you_," he sang softly, "_you'd be like Heaven to touch; I want to hold you _sooo_ much_."

"Can't Take My Eyes Off You" by Frankie Valli. The boy was good; he knew this was one of Rachel's favorite songs.

"_At long last love has arrived, and I thank God I'm alive_. _You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you_."

Despite the fact that it was Jesse singing, and her heart belonged to Finn, Rachel couldn't stop the smile spreading across her lips. Or the way that her heart was jumping to the song's rhythm.

It sounded like Jesse's voice was drawing closer, clearer.

"_Pardon the way that I stare. There's nothing else to compare. The sight of you leaves me weak. There are no words left to speak_."

And then she saw him, walking slowly down the aisle, some redheaded guy playing the guitar while Jesse passed by swooning girls, singing into a microphone.

And his eyes were locked on hers in such an intense way that she momentarily forgot how to breathe.

"_But if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real_." He was now just a yard away from her. "_You're just too good to be true; can't take my eyes off you_." Now he was standing in front of her table, a mere arm's length away. She quickly wiped the smile off her face and tried to look bored, but the utter adoration in his eyes toward her was making it hard for her not to show emotion.

And then he belted out the chorus, loudly and powerfully enough to make Rachel feel frozen with admiration and the heart-throbbing thought, _This if for me! He's serenading me in public because he still cares about me!_

"_I love you, baby! And if it's quite all right, I need you, baby, to warm a lonely night. I love you, baby! Trust in me when I say-ay-ay_," he jumped up on top of the table and began running from tabletop to tabletop, dancing a simple, running-style dance.

"_Oh, pretty bayyyybeeee, don't you bring me down, I pray._" He leapt back to Rachel's tabletop, landing on his knees and skidding to a perfect stop in front of her, pressing one hand over his heart and tilting back his head with his eyes closed. "_Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay._"

With his eyes still closed from passion, he belted out the next line with such vigor that Rachel was almost expecting his lungs to give out. "_And let me love you, baby, let me love yoooouuuu!_"

His opened his eyes and slipped off the edge of the table, landing effortlessly on his feet. He turned to face Rachel, took one of her hands in his one not holding the microphone, and pulled her to her feet.

He led her into the aisle, swaying with her to the beat, which had now slowed down to the song's beginning tempo.

Jesse finished off the song in that pure singing voice again, sweet and soft, not once taking his eyes away from Rachel's.

"_You're just too good to be true; can't take my eyes off you_. _You'd be like Heaven to touch; I want to hold you so much_," his voice gradually lowered and lowered until it was the sweetest, softest whisper that touched the very depths of Rachel's fluttering heart. "_You're just too good to be true_…" he paused, bringing his lips less than an inch away from hers. "_Can't take my eyes…off…"_ The guitarist strummed off the last chord and Jesse whispered, rather than sang, the final word, "You."

He dropped her hand so that he could put his against the small of her back; his eyes were sleepily half-mast, as if he, too, were in a trance at being so close to her.

Rachel could practically feel his mouth on hers; that tiny distance was mercilessly teasing her.

And then, as if reading her thoughts, Jesse brought his lips down to hers.

She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back, not thinking of anything other than his warmth and the softness of his lips and how beautiful it had just been to be serenaded by him in public, where everyone knew she was his and he was hers. Not thinking of how anything other than how _right_ this felt.

She was vaguely aware of the store's shoppers bursting into applause, cheers, and whistles.

At first, she'd thought it was the sound of her own heart's celebration.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Again, I must thank all of you for reading, reviewing, and/or subscribing/favoriting my story. :D Sorry, I planned on posting this chapter earlier, but what with New Years, I've been a bit busy. By the way, Happy New Year to you all! I hope yours is filled with joy and blessings. Man, can you believe it's 2011 already? It'll be a truly GLEEful (see what I did there? ;)) year for us all.

Anyway, here's the next chapter. :) I hope you guys enjoy it! And remember to leave a review, please.

* * *

Chapter Seven

It felt great kissing Rachel, especially with the approving roar of the crowd.

Jesse grinned against her lips, full and delectable; the taste of her raspberry-flavored Chapstick was subtle and sweet.

He was jubilant that his serenade to her had worked. Not that there had ever been any real doubts, but Jesse knew how stubborn Rachel was. But apparently, he was irresistible.

Yes, all was going according to plan. He and Rachel were as good as gold now – it was only a matter of very short time before she would be his girlfriend and he would get to have his second chance.

Let's just hope he didn't screw it up this time.

Suddenly, Rachel jerked away from him as if he had shoved her; his eyes flew open to see her staring at him, complete disbelief written all over her face. She quickly wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand, scrubbing vigorously.

As utterly lame as it was to admit this, it hurt Jesse's feelings that Rachel had just tried to wipe off his kiss as if it were something nasty. He also felt more than a little confused, and annoyance at her fickleness.

"What? Do I taste badly or something?" he asked dryly, lifting his eyebrows.

From his peripheral vision, he could see the crowd whispering to each other. Not good. They were witnessing him potentially being humiliated in public. Suddenly, Jesse didn't really want his and Rachel's (hopefully) blossoming relationship to play out amidst all these random strangers.

He grabbed Rachel's hand and pulled her into the closest aisle, hiding them from view. He dropped her hand before she could yank it away herself and stared down at her expectantly.

_You'd think in all that time, she would've at least grown a little bit in height_, he thought with wry amusement.

"What just happened was a mistake and will never be again," she said with such intense seriousness that Jesse had to bite back a smirk. She acted like everything was a matter of life or death. Couldn't she ever lighten up and just have _fun_?

"You're just scared, Berry," said Jesse. He said it as if issuing a challenge; he leaned in toward her and lowered his eyes. "You know what we have is real, and you don't know how to deal with that, so you're going to run." He uttered a laugh that lacked any mirth. "I thought you were the kind of girl who grabbed life by its horns and steered it into the direction _you_ wanted it to go. But I was obviously wrong; you're nothing more than a coward."

He was baiting her, trying to push her from her shell. Why couldn't she just take that leap of faith and be with him? Didn't she see that he would never break her heart again?

Rachel narrowed her eyes at him and stuck her hands on her hips. "I'm not a coward! But I know what true love is, and we don't have it. I'm with Finn now, and we're perfectly content, thank you very much."

Jesse ignored the part about Rachel claiming not to have true love with him and honed in on the last part. "'_Perfectly content_'?' he repeated, making it sound about as appealing as a snot sandwich. "The Rachel Berry I fell in love with would never settle for such mediocrity! She lived for the most exhilarating, star-making moments of life. '_Carpe diem!_' she said. '_Future Broadway star!_' she said. Being '_perfectly content_'" – that disgusted tone again – "doesn't make one a star, Rachel – it makes one _boring_; it makes one _average_."

He paused, letting that terrible word sink in (from the horrified look on her face, his spiel was really hitting its mark). "If you want all your dreams to come true, you can't settle for '_perfectly content_'! You have to strive for being the best, being wildly successful and obscenely gleeful! You can't settle, period. And anything other than giving me a second chance would be settling. You know it, Rachel; listen to your heart."

He reached out and placed his hand on her chest; he could feel that her heart was beating rapidly. She looked up into his eyes, her own wide and confused and a bit frightened by the intensity of his words. Her eyelashes were incredibly long and curled at the ends, framing her brown irises so innocently.

"What does your heart tell you, Rachel?" Jesse whispered.

Rachel swallowed hard, her legs a bit shaky. She forced herself to break away from Jesse's spell; she broke eye-contact, took a deep breath to clear her head, and gently took his hand in her two smaller ones. She gingerly closed his into a fist and placed it over his heart.

She dropped her hands, and they just stared into each other's eyes for a moment, pleading in his and seriousness in hers.

"My heart tells me that I still love Finn; that I will _always_ love Finn," she said finally, "and it tells me that I was wrong to kiss you. I pulled away because I saw Finn's face in my head." She looked down at her feet. "But my heart also tells me that I _did_ feel something when we kissed. And by the extremely fast way it's beating right now, it tells me that I still have a lot of unresolved feelings toward you."

She looked up into his eyes again. "I don't want to be _that_ girl, Jesse – the one who can't make up her mind between two boys. Sure, it's fun to think about being torn between two lovers, especially when they're polar opposites like you and Finn are. But in reality, it – for lack of a better term – _sucks_. And being 'perfectly content' isn't as bad as you make it out to be – especially when I'm head-over-heels for the guy."

Jesse remained silent; for once, he was at a loss for words. Something that felt strangely like hot moisture was pinching stubbornly at the backs of his eyelids, but he blinked a few times and the awful sensation went away.

"I don't understand, Rachel," he said, his voice slightly strained. "Why can't you just give me another chance?"

"Because even though Finn and I are on a break right now, we're still ultimately a couple, and – "

"_What_?" Jesse interrupted, holding up one hand. His eyes bulged. "You're _on a break_?" he scoffed at the term. "I can't believe this! Rachel, don't you see? If you chose me, we would never be _on a break_; I would want all of you forever. I would _always_ want to be with you!"

Rachel lifted her chin indignantly, but her tone didn't hold as much conviction as before. "Finn's doing this for me; he wants to better himself so our relationship can be strengthened. I think it's sweet and noble, his act of self-sacrifice."

Jesse rolled his eyes. "Please. An act of self-sacrifice would be him doing whatever it took to make you happy, even if it didn't benefit him. Are _you_ happy with this little '_break_'_?_" He framed this last word with finger quotes.

Well…when he put it that way. Rachel hesitated before answering, not wanting to put Finn in a bad light. "No," she said slowly, "I'm not."

"That's because you know deep down he's not doing this for any 'self-sacrifice' crap; he's doing it because he wants to be single, explore the dating pool, and not be leashed around by you."

"You can't just keep making these terrible assumptions about my relationship with Finn! You don't even know what he's like. It _is_ self-sacrifice for him, because he _wants_ to be with me!"

Jesse gave her that look of his: that skeptical look that said 'you know I'm right; just admit it already.'

"Don't look at me like that!"

"I don't want to see you hurt."

"That's ironic, coming from the boy who redefined the word for me last year."

"Can't you let that go!"

"NO!" she yelled. "Because you don't seem to really get it, do you, Jesse? You don't really care about _my_ feelings – or else why would you be trying so hard to ruin things between me and Finn? I'm actually _happy_ now. And if you truly '_love' _me" now was her turn for finger quotes "like you say you do, then that should be enough."

She started to turn to leave, but Jesse stopped her, his hand lightly touching her shoulder.

"Wait!" he took a deep breath. "Now listen carefully, because I'm never going to say this again." He closed his eyes and said, sounding like it pained him greatly to do so, "You're right." He bit down on his bottom lip and looked at her.

She appeared half-victorious and half-shocked that Jesse St. James just admitted she was right, which in turn admitted _he_ was wrong.

"My intentions to get back together with you – while pure, I promise – are aimed much more toward _my_ happiness than yours." He sheepishly raked his fingers through his golden-brown curls; a few sprung at his touch in an adorable way. "I hope I didn't mess things up too badly with you…_again_." He held out his hand. "Friends?"

Rachel smiled cautiously, but she was pretty sure he was telling the truth. That was one of the reasons she could never again give her heart to Jesse – she wouldn't ever fully be able to trust him. He was charming, sure, but oftentimes charm was used for deceitful purposes.

"Friends," she agreed, shaking his hand.

"Sooo…" Jesse puffed his cheeks and blew out slowly. He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Where do we go from here?"

"Actually," Rachel said with a slow, excited smile, "I have just the idea."

* * *

"No, no," said Quinn with a light laugh, "you completely step on my foot when you go to the right; keep to the left."

She was at Sam's house, practicing with him for their duet for Glee Club. Together, they'd chosen "Fever" by Peggy Lee – was there any other song more passionate? They were now rehearsing the choreography in Sam's living room; they'd pushed all the furniture to one side of the room for the occasion so they had the entire hardwood floor as their stage.

Sam chuckled. "Hey, I never said I was the best dancer!" He leaned in and planted a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips. "But I _am_ the best kisser, right?" He winked adorably.

Quinn giggled. "Of course, baby." She reached up and gave him a soft, smacking peck.

Sam _was_ a good kisser, but she couldn't help but to always notice the lack of _passion_. Their kisses were always sweet and warm, but they lacked real heat – like a fleeting spark not strong enough to blaze into an actual flame.

No, Sam was wrong; he wasn't the best kisser – Puck was. Quinn hated to admit it, but she couldn't deny the memories of how every time she and Puck had kissed, her knees had weakened and her stomach had been overcome with butterflies.

She didn't have that with Sam. No, what she had with him was a sense of safety – reliability and security. And knowing that she didn't have to be afraid of ever losing control of her emotions. Or of giving too much of her heart away to him.

"Okay, so I dip you at the second verse, swing you in, swing you out, and then dip you again?" Sam clarified, pulling Quinn from her thoughts.

She nodded and smiled. "Exactly."

"And who sings the first chorus? Me, you, or both of us?"

"We alternate lines, remember?"

"Right."

"Okay," Quinn clapped her hands together. "Let's take it from the top!"

* * *

"You want me to help you write a song?" Jesse crossed his arms and arched one eyebrow, intrigued.

"Yes," Rachel nodded earnestly. "Our assignment for Glee Club this week was 'passion,' and even though I already sang a song worthy of radiating said topic, I know that singing something personal that I helped pen will be tenfold as passionate. Plus, if I want to make myself even more of a threat to the competition, writing my own audition songs could really give me that extra edge."

Jesse considered this; it wasn't a bad idea. He'd dappled in songwriting for a while but had realized he'd much rather sing somebody else's songs because it was more fun to take on a different persona. But it sounded like it could be fun.

Plus, it'd mean quality time with Rachel.

Despite what she may think, he wasn't giving up on her just yet. Far from it, actually.

"What's in it for me?" he asked, looking like he was considering it. Even though his mind was already made with a big 'yes.'

"The joy of exercising your creativity and bettering your character," she said. When he didn't look convinced, she quickly added, "And I'll pay you. Five dollars an hour."

Jesse laughed. "First of all, I'm not going to let you _pay_ me. Second of all, if I _were_ going to let you pay me, I would have to say that a mere five dollars an hour is a large insult to my overflowing talent."

"Well, then what do you want?"

"How about you let me take you out to dinner?" At the skeptical look on her face, he added, "As friends, of course."

She grinned. "All right then, the negotiations have been settled. Now we need a meeting time. How about tomorrow after Glee? Be at my house at five o'clock."

"I can pick you up from school."

"That's not a good idea," she said, "considering how you're sort of our public enemy number one. And I don't think it's best if Finn knows about us." She quickly rephrased that: "Not that there _is_ an 'us', but to others it may look suspicious. Oh, stop looking at me like that!"

Jesse chuckled. "Okay, so you want me to be at you house by five?"

"Yes."

"Got it, Berry," he said, his face splitting into a grin. "It's a date."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Hey guys! Good news - I'm still alive! :D Hahah, I apologize for the ridiculously long time it's taken me to update. :-/ I just got busy, lazy, and my muse wasn't being all that cooperative, but now we're back in business, so all's good.

Thank you soooooo incredibly much for all of the amazing reviews - as corny as this is going to sound, they never fail to brighten my day, bring a smile to my face, and some were so sweet they even brought tears to my eyes. XD Please continue to review! *hugs* Also, I will try to update much more frequently, though don't count on the one-a-day system I got into over Christmas break.

Anyway, here's the next chapter! I hope you guys love it, I hope it was well worth the wait, and I hope you like how it's pretty long. :) Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Eight

_Quinn raced into the bathroom, hitting the floor's cold tiles and barely making it in time to retch inside the toilet._

_She moaned; she absolutely loathed throwing-up. It was pretty far in the pregnancy – wouldn't the morning sickness ever go away? Ironically, it usually didn't even come in the mornings, but rather at night, right before she drifted off to sleep._

_She heard the sound of heavy, slightly clumsy footsteps pattering through the guest room and into the bathroom._

"_Are you okay?" Puck's voice; he sounded concerned and a bit shy, as if not knowing how to approach this situation. "I was doing some squats when I heard you yakking all the way from the next room."_

_Quinn quickly wiped her mouth off with a piece of toilet paper and then flushed that and her bile down the toilet. She got to her feet, her legs wobbling._

"_I'm fine," she said sharply. "Morning sickness is just one of the amazing benefits of the Teen Pregnancy Package."_

"_You don't _look_ fine," he said. His handsome face was lined with worry._

"_Gee, thanks," Quinn scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Exactly what every girl wants to hear."_

"_You know that's not what I meant," said Puck, leaning against the doorframe. "You always look beautiful." _

_Even now, wearing a pair of his old Star Wars pajama pants (don't laugh; he was a nerdy kid, all right?) and a loose black tank top of her own that didn't do such a great job of disguising her prominent baby bump, Puck still thought she was the epitome of gorgeousness. Then again, he always thought that, even now, when her face was devoid of make-up and her hair was slightly greased with sweat._

"_Thanks," Quinn whispered, turning awkwardly away. "You can go back to your room now."_

_Puck nodded once, though he wanted to make sure she was okay. Reluctantly, he started to turn to leave._

_Quinn was suddenly hit with a wave of dizziness; she crashed loudly to the floor, landing on her butt. She let out a whimper, her hands flying to her stomach._

_Puck whirled around and darted over to kneel beside her. "What's wrong? Did you fall?" his tone was hectic, panicked._

"_Yes," said Quinn, her voice thick with arriving tears. She broke into a sob, covering her face with her hands as her shoulder shook._

_Puck slid his arm around her and nestled her into his side, giving her a shield of warmth and protection. Quinn buried her head against his side, choking on her own sobs._

"_I can't do this," she whispered after her soft cries had subsided to sniffles. "How can I have a baby? I'm just a kid!"_

_Puck kissed her on top of her soft blonde head. "You can do this because you have me," he whispered. His words were raw and vulnerable, punctuated by the tears slipping past his long eyelashes. He sucked in his cheeks to keep from crying, needing to be strong for Quinn. And for their baby. "And because you're the strongest, bravest, most awesome person I know."_

_Suddenly, Quinn elbowed away from him and made a quick crawl toward the toilet. She promptly puked into it, her shoulders heaving from the effort._

_Without even thinking, Puck dashed toward her and caught her hair with one hand, holding it gently back from her face. With his other hand, he rubbed soothing circles into her back._

"Shhh_," he whispered kindly, kissing the back of her head. "It's okay; I'm here for you." She vomited again, louder this time, moans emitting from deep within her throat. "I'm here for you," he repeated, even quieter this time, as if talking to himself._

_When she was finally done, Quinn flushed the toilet and collapsed onto her side, both of her hands protectively circling around her protruding stomach. She looked very pale, and her hairline was matted to her forehead with sweat._

_Puck tore off a clean sheet of toilet paper to gently wipe off Quinn's mouth; he deposited this into the toilet and shut the lid._

_He scooted her toward him, resting her head on his lap. He stroked his fingers through her hair and sang softly to her, a Jewish lullaby that sounded beautiful._

"_Thank you for taking care of me," Quinn said weakly. And then she fell asleep, the full weight of her head cradled within Puck's lap, but he didn't mind at all. Just the opposite, really._

_Puck smiled down at her, his heart throbbing. Now that she couldn't hear him, he could tell her his biggest secret of all._

"_I'm in love with you, Quinn," he whispered carefully, as if saying the delicate words too loudly would damage them. "Forever."_

_

* * *

_

It was almost midnight, but Quinn wasn't the least bit tired.

She stared up at her ceiling, watching the giant blades of her overhead fan spin 'round and 'round. She'd left her pink curtains open, so moonlight spilled across her bed, illuminating her room in a soft, hazy glow.

Her mind raced; she kept having flashbacks to her time living with Puck.

That time his mom had went to bed early due to a migraine, so he and Quinn had had to fend for themselves dinner-wise; they'd cooked brisket, had burned it due to both of their inexperience, and ended up phoning in pizza. That evening had been marked by easy laughter and a sense of comradery.

That time she and Puck had gotten into a stupid fight – Quinn couldn't even remember the reason – that somehow ended with Quinn throwing her own shoe out the window and then sheepishly asking Puck to go outside and get it back, because she was kind of afraid of the dark.

That time they'd first felt the baby kick; they'd been sitting on his couch, watching TV, when it happened. "_Puck!" Quinn exclaimed. "She's kicking!" She quickly grabbed his hand and rested it on her stomach. The daughter who would be named Beth kicked again, and Puck gazed at Quinn's belly with teary eyes while Quinn smiled at the heart-warming sight._

She and Puck had so much history; history that could not easily be erased or covered up, no matter with how much time. They'd _had a baby_ together, for goodness sake! For a time, they'd been all each other had.

And the whole pregnancy thing wasn't the only reason Quinn had connected with him so strongly. He was actually a really caring person, he stood up for what he believed in, he made her laugh (whether intentionally or not), and the way he kissed her made her feel like all of her problems were melted away.

She flung back the covers and climbed out of bed, heading over to her homework folder lying on her bureau. She clicked on the lamp next to it and leafed through the pages of the folder until finding the set of pictures Puck had printed out for her.

That really had been such a sweet gesture. And how had she repaid him? By acting like a complete bitch.

She held the photographs to her chest for a while, right against her heart. She didn't look at them; she just let her heart beat against them, as if melding the picture's memories straight into her chest.

With gathered strength, she finally looked through the photos one by one. She took her time, examining each with precision and care. She smiled sadly the whole way through, tears brightening her eyes; she blinked and several slipped out, quickly tracing down her face.

Why couldn't she just be honest with herself? She missed Puck; she was happy with Sam, but happiness wasn't enough – she wanted _everything_, all of the crazy, wonderful, exhilarating feelings; she wanted to be kissed in a way where her knees weakened and her breath was stolen.

Quinn often prayed for her Prince Charming. She knew she didn't deserve a fairytale romance – she was a terribly self-centered and downright mean person last year, and this year she wasn't exactly in the running for Citizen of the Year. But she hadn't picked on anyone in a long time, and she was even finding it easier to poke fun at herself.

But she knew God was merciful and forgiving, and she was pretty sure her getting pregnant while still in high school and giving up her own child was enough karmic payback to last a lifetime.

The thing was, with this Prince Charming wish – she just didn't see it being Sam. Which was crazy, considering Sam fit the criteria perfectly: handsome, sweet, talented, smart, funny, and _definitely_ charming.

Puck was oftentimes obnoxious in the way he ran his mouth off with sexist comments, and he didn't even _try_ to do well in school, and he burped the alphabet and then laughed at it afterward in this incredibly stupid way.

But he also had a stare that was both penetratingly brooding and sweet as a puppy. And he may've acted like girls were just sex conquests for him, but he was actually completely devoted and protective of his girlfriends. And he'd named their daughter – he'd put a lot of thought into it, too, not just picking a name at random.

Maybe this was going to sound crazy – because he definitely didn't fit the stereotype – …but when daydreaming about her Prince Charming, Quinn always thought of Puck.

* * *

The first thing Will noticed upon entering the teacher's lounge Wednesday morning was that the room felt oddly…_light_. Like there was this tension missing, and his neck muscles weren't in danger of tightening from stress at any moment.

The second thing he noticed was that Sue was nowhere in sight. _Ahhh_, so _that's_ why the atmosphere didn't feel foreboding and cynical.

He sat down across from Beiste. "Where's Sue?" he inquired.

A slow grin spread across Beiste's face. "You know, now that you mentioned it, I was wondering why I felt much less like punching somebody in the face than I normally do."

"Well, I always say my morning isn't truly started until Sue's made her first insult about my hair," Will joked.

Beiste laughed. "Thank God for small miracles, eh?" She lifted her blue mug in the air.

"Did I tell you about my bet with her?" he asked.

"No," said Beiste, intrigued.

Will quickly filled her in.

"Wow," Beiste chuckled. "So you're really going to let her shave your head if she wins?"

"Hey, a deal's a deal," Will shrugged. "We shook on it fair-and-square. But I _know_ she's not going to win. _Sue? _Go a _week_ without being mean to anyone?" He shook his head. "You'd sooner see me dancing down the football field in a prom dress and heels then you'd see that happening."

"Now _that_ I'd pay to see."

Will smirked. "So why do you think she's not here yet? … You don't think she's – "

"But she couldn't be – "

"Hiding out?"

In unison, Will and Beiste made _pfft_ noises with their lips, shook their heads, cocked their eyebrows, and said: "_Nah!_"

* * *

Sue Sylvester was hiding beneath her desk. She wore a yellow construction hat with a flashlight taped on top, the beam of which shined down onto the journal lying in her lap.

All of the lights in the room were off save for Sue's flashlight.

_Dear Journal_, Sue wrote, keeping her ears twitched for any signs of approaching footsteps, _the time has finally come where one Sue Sylvester stows away amongst the rat droppings under her desk, scavenging for food and a sense of humanity. I bet this is how the Chilean minors felt._

She paused to gather her bearings. _What was I thinking, Journal? How could I have so foolishly taken that bet with William? _She shook her head at herself. _Perhaps not issuing a snide comment toward anyone __but__ Poodle Head would be doable, but go a full 168 hours without telling him how much of a disgrace he is to all of mankind? That would be like telling J. Lo she has to stop being a sexy Latina woman with an annoying accent – it can't be done!_

Sue checked her watch; it was almost time for first period to start. Where was Becky?

As if on cue, the familiar pitter-patter of the young girl's footsteps bounded into the room.

"Coach?" she whispered loudly. Too loudly; she was practically yelling.

"_Coach!_" Even louder this time. "Where are you?"

Sue quickly tossed her journal aside and crawled into the open. She gave Becky a fierce look and held her finger to her lips.

Becky smiled sheepishly. "Oh, right…sorry," she said, her voice now at a much more acceptable volume.

"I brought what you wanted." She tip-toed over to Sue, who was on all fours. "A chocolate-filling doughnut from the lounge, and the latest gossip."

"Hit me with the news, doc," Sue winced, imaging the rumors that must've started flying at her absence.

"Mr. Schuester and Coach Beiste think you're hiding out."

"Damn," Sue muttered, "I hate to make them right."

"They were only joking. But they started to get a bit suspicious."

"Good," Sue nodded, "this is good. Suspicion means they're wary of me – wariness is derivative from fear. And fear is the foundation of power.

Listen, Becky, here's what I want you to do; lay low, you got it? This conversation never happened. Report back to me at precisely oh-five-hundred hours, _capisce_?"

"But Coach – that's five in the morning!"

_Oh…oops_. "I meant, 'be here at lunchtime.'"

"Got it, Coach!" Becky saluted Sue.

"Now put the doughnut in my mouth and quietly leave my office, while shutting the door behind you."

Becky obliged; Sue waited until she was gone before crawling in all fours back under her desk. The doughnut hung from her mouth – she felt like a household mongrel.

After gobbling up her doughnut as if it were the first morsel she'd had in days, Sue resumed writing in her journal.

_I know I can't hide away here forever, Journal. There is only so long I can hold in my urine, for one thing. For another, I really need to get to my computer so I can properly learn military time._

_So I have come to this conclusion regarding my bet with William: I have to rise to the occasion. I can do this! This is Sue Sylvester we're talking about – the same broad who once won an arm-wrestling match with an excessively horny chimpanzee._

_And if my duty calls for me to be nice, then so be it, I'm going to be so sugary sweet that Will's giant horse teeth will rot away in his disproportionate mouth!_

_Wish Me Luck,  
__Your Friend Susan._


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Wowwie-wow-wow! Can you guys BELIEVE IT? It is exactly the one year anniversary of when I posted the first chapter of this story. Ohmygosh, I am feeling so nostalgic right now, you don't even know! XD Also, I am feeling kind of embarrassed… Because the last time I updated this story, according to the site, was 1/16/11… WHICH IS, LIKE, ELEVEN FREAKING MONTHS AGO! Dx I have this horrible feeling, like I overslept for my own birthday party, and I ran downstairs after throwing on the first robe I saw, but then I discovered that everyone had already left. And they had taken their presents with them! Because, seriously? How many of you SUPERDUPERAWESOMEAMAZING-CAN-I-PLEASE-JUST-TAKE-THIS-MOMENT-TO-SAY-HOW-GRATEFUL-I-AM? readers/reviewers of mine are actually going to _care_ if I update this story? You've probably lost interest by now. Have printed out copies of this story and then ceremoniously burned it, whilst chanting my penname in an angry manner over and over again, to smite me for abandoning you guys and taking FOR-FREAKING-EVER to update this story! :( But I promise, I have good reasons! Noble, even!

I will post those lengthy-but-hopefully-charming reasons onto my profile page, so you can click my username, head over there, scroll down to the bottom of my About Me thingy, and read it if you wish. If not, then please forgive me, know that I love you guys, read on, and don't forget to reviewreviewreview, because they truly do brighten my day. :) Constructive criticism is always welcome, just no flames, please.

And without further ado, here it is, ladies and gentlebutts, chaaaaapteeeerrr niiiiiiiyyyyyynnnneeeee!

* * *

Chapter Nine

Rachel entered the classroom with a fresh bounce in her step. She hadn't feel this happy in weeks – she and Finn were going to get back together soon; mega-talented Jesse St. James was going to help her pen the next greatest hit; and though she wore a new sweater, no immature jock-brain had thrown a Slushie in her face all morning.

She breezed by Finn, took her seat. His neck followed after her, twisting almost owl-like on his shoulders.

"You look…_chipper_," his eyebrows scrunched together, as if he were surprised by his own word choice.

Rachel arranged her notebook and folder neatly on her desk before meeting Finn's friendly brown eyes. "I feel on top of the world!" she bubbled. "As if Barbra herself just told me I'm destined to play her in a biographical Broadway play."

One corner of Finn's lips tugged upward; Rachel's jubilance was contagious. "I'm really glad to see you out of your slump."

Rachel's eyes stole a quick glance at his oh-so-kissable mouth: her thoughts jumped to Jesse – "_You're just too good to be true; can't take my eyes off of you_," hands through her hair, their lips meeting, roar of the crowd – then quickly snapped back to Finn.

Heat spread beneath her cheeks, and she quickly propped her chin in her hands, spreading her fingers against the side of her face to conceal her blush.

Finn turned back around after sharing another smile with Rachel, leaving her alone to her conflicting thoughts.

_What is your problem, Rachel? You can't imagine lip-locking Jesse when Finn Hudson, the love of your adolescent life, is RIGHT THERE! You have far more class than that._

She stared at the back of Finn's head, appreciating the shine of his dark hair. Remembered the firm shape of his lips, contrasted by their softness. She could practically feel his hands, warm and slightly calloused, cupping her face gently.

Her heart gave a familiar flutter. Yes, Finn was the one she wanted; the one she loved. The One: period.

So why had she been thinking about kissing Jesse? 

* * *

Puck was on his way to lunch when he noticed Quinn rummaging through her locker. It was the second time in two days he'd found her alone, as if the fates were helping him out, giving him ample opportunity to woo her back.

Hoisting his backpack further up his shoulders, Puck marched over to Quinn with the air of a veteran solider heading back into a fresh battle: determined, wary, and with that familiar tingle of excitement for a new adventure, no matter how disastrous it might turn out to be.

"Hey, Quinn," he greeted. Used to, he called her 'MILF' or 'baby mama,' but after seeing how his playful nicknames had hurt her feelings, he'd put a stop to that. Still, he had to stop himself from some sort of snide teasing, which was one of the ways he best flirted.

She turned to look at him, peering up from those beautiful, full eyelashes. Puck momentarily forgot why he was standing there – such was the power of Quinn's beauty.

"What do you want, Puck?" she asked. She sounded tired.

"Can't a friend just drop by without getting any grief about it?" He asked a bit _too_ innocently.

The shadow of a sleepless night cast faint circles beneath Quinn's eyes. She didn't look pissed off at him, which was good; but she did look exhausted, the deep kind that settles around your bones, dragging them down with the weight of the world. Exhausted from life.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Puck's tone instantly switched over to genuine concern. Instinctively, he reached out a hand and rested it on the shoulder of her lavender cardigan, worn over a brightly-clean white lacy babydoll dress.

Quinn's lips pressed into a thin line, so tight that the area around her mouth faded a shade paler. She looked down at his hand; seeing it set off something within her, slapped a sense of reality into her dreamlike state, and immediately her posture straightened to its usual primness, and indifference wiped her face clean of any emotion. But she didn't look like her typical bored and bitchy self, for her eyes showed the flicker of a tentative warmth.

"Puck," said Quinn quietly. "I'm really sorry." She grabbed his hand between both of hers; his was big and warm and slightly calloused from guitar playing, and hers was slender and delicate and cold as ice. She looked right into his eyes and held his gaze for a single, throbbing, mutual heartbeat.

Puck wanted to say something, _anything_, but any sort of word evaded him.

Quinn gave his fingers a squeeze that spoke of finality; a squeeze of her fingers curling over his, just beginning to grow warmer from his body heat, encasing Puck's hand in a safe cocoon that he never wanted to be released from. But then Quinn was dropping his hand, flashing him the smallest of smiles that didn't even begin to touch her eyes, and turning away, walking down the hallway with her head held high on a stiff neck.

Leaving Puck's brow to draw into a furrow as he brought his fingers to his eyes and stared at them, equal parts bewildered and amazed, as if wondering if his hand might now sprout flowers or turn into gold.

* * *

Will walked into the teacher's lounge at the beginning of his lunch break and was immediately taken aback by the mouthwatering smell of desserts.

His eyes jumped to the circular table smack in the middle of the room; it held at least a dozen opened white boxes overflowing with pastries, doughnuts, miniature pies, slices of cake, cupcakes, muffins, and croissants galore.

"Whoa." The impressed word slipped from his mouth in a mumble as his eyes widened at the extremely savory sight.

"Oh, hello, William! Wonderful afternoon, isn't it? Help yourself to a fresh baked good from Made With Love bakery. They're my treat."

Will's head swiveled to find none other than Sue Sylvester standing at the opposite end of the room, over by the espresso machine. Her tracksuit was pure white with silver stripes down the sides and around the cuffs. A modest amount of silver glitter dusted atop her light blonde head, giving her the impression of glowing.

The whole look, combined with the tone of voice that was actually genuinely sweet and not falsely saccharine, made her appear...and Will thought he would _never_, in a million, billion, trillion years use this word to describe Sue..._angelic_.

"Sue...you did this?" Will asked, a bit stupidly. "You bought all of these desserts?"

Sue pulled her freshly refilled mug of steaming coffee from the machine and waltzed toward him with an innocent bounce to the step of her pure-white-with-silver-shoelaces Nikes.

"Why yes, my dearest William," she said, giving him a big, kind smile that made her dark blue eyes twinkle for once with friendliness rather than ruthless menace. "Think of it as a symbolic gift from me to all of my colleagues; the sweetness of these delectable treats are the food version of the new sweet-as-pie me."

_Yeah,_ thought Will, _maybe if that pie was made of _venom.

He raised his eyebrows. So Sue was playing into the bet. And quite well, truth be told. Though the whole I'm-a-newborn-angel look was a taking it a bit far, sort of Rachel-Berry-esque in its metaphorical drama.

Will approached the table of treats with caution, as if they had sharp fangs and would jump out and attack him with even the slightest provocation.

"Why do I feel like this is more of a Trojan Horse?" said Will, bending at the knees and sticking his hands on his hips. Now that his gaze was level with the desserts, he inspected the boxes. They didn't appear to be dipped in arsenic or laced with laxatives, but you never knew.

"Why does it smell like a Pillsbury Dough Boy family reunion in here?" Beiste's booming voice inquired as she entered the room. Will stood and turned toward Beiste, Emma, and a few other teachers standing in the doorway.

Some of the group stared at the desserts with smiles on their faces, while Beiste and Emma stared in disbelief at Sue.

"Sue got us all catering," Will said, sharing a three-way eyebrows-lifted look with Emma and Beiste. The staff entered the lounge; all but Beiste and Emma rushed to the middle table, grabbing paper plates and stacking them high with their selections.

"Greetings, my wonderful co-workers!" Sue trilled, clasping her hands together and grinning from ear to ear. "Please, help yourself to the food. There is plenty to go around, and if we run out, the International Bank of Sue will be happy to call in for more, maybe even adding a pizza or two."

"Wow, Sue," said Emma, not bothering to fight back the smirk stretching across her face. "You sure are taking this bet seriously."

"Oh, well, you know me, Emma," said Sue, making Emma's eyes pop open wider. Sue had actually gotten her name correct? "Always looking out for the good of mankind. And, of course, always one to win whatever competition I'm in." She gave Will a good-natured slug on the shoulder with her fist and chuckled warmly as if they had all just remembered an old inside joke.

"It's like Invasion of the Body Snatchers: Part II," Beiste said with no hint of humor. It was actually pretty scary to watch Sue Sylvester being as companionable as your favorite aunt.

Sue smiled at Beiste. "I didn't peg you as the science-fiction type, Shannon," she said. "Which is a sad sign of how my ignorance and stereotyping is hindering me from getting to know my lovely co-workers."

"Um…" said Beiste. What she was thinking was: _SHANNON! Sue just called me by my first name? Not 'Beiste,' or 'Beiste-y,' or some random insult, but SHANNON?_

This was just too weird. Will didn't know whether to laugh or back away slowly. He turned to Emma for her reaction and saw, surprisingly enough, that she was smiling.

Emma had decided she liked New Sue. Sure, it was temporary – the longest Sue had to keep this up was only for a week – but that just gave her all the more reason to appreciate this kind version of the cruel cheerleading coach. And who knew? Maybe Sue would come away from this experience learning a genuine, valuable, life-changing lesson that being nice was a much better alternative than being mean.

Their lunch break went by quickly, ending with Will, Emma, and Beiste ultimately giving into the temptation of the delicious desserts (though their eventual resign of boycotting had less to do with their trust in Sue, and more to do with the fact that those who had been gobbling down her treats didn't appear to be sick or bothered or _dead _yet).

The bell would ring soon; Will needed to get back to his Spanish classroom so he would be there before his students arrived. Sue was the first to leave the room, and it was only then that Will was able to catch sight of the back of her tracksuit.

The word 'ANGEL' was spelled out in silver glitter along the back of her jacket, with a jaunty halo ringing around the top of the G. A pair of silvery wings sprouted out on either side of the word, stretching up to her shoulder blades and curling to a stop just short of her neck.

Again, Will was caught between the desire to laugh out loud or to back slowly, very slowly, away from her.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, subscribed, etc. And thanks if you're still reading this, sticking with it 'til the end. :) I hope you enjoy this next chapter. (See? I didn't wait months until uploading again; I'm proud of myself. Haha) Please remember to review, review, REVIEW! Feedback really does encourage me to update faster.

New Year's Eve is almost here - whoo-hoo! *Does dorky party dance* Also, *shameless self-promotion* be sure to check out my new Glee story, _The Magic __Within. _It's supernatural, action-adventure, mystery/suspense, kind of sci-fi, lots of romance, comedy, drama... A nice, healthy helping of everything, really. ;D Hehe

* * *

Chapter Ten

The end of the school day could not come soon enough for Finn.

He'd had two pop quizzes that he was pretty sure he'd bombed, an oral presentation in Spanish that was at least B-worthy but had made him feel nervous the whole time and a good while afterward, and while eating lunch with Rachel, she'd seemed distracted about something and hadn't laughed or even appeared to have heard the awesome new joke he'd come up with the night before.

After school on Wednesdays meant Glee Club practice. If there was anything that could take Finn's mind off his troubles and put a fresh smile on his face, Glee Club was it.

Due to some trouble with his suddenly treacherous locker combination, he was the last person to arrive at rehearsal.

"Hey there, Finn," said Mr. Schue. "Good job on your Spanish oral today!"

"Thanks, Mr. Schue," Finn said with a genuine grin, taking the seat Rachel had saved for him between her and Mercedes.

Rachel flashed him a 'that's-great-I'm-so-proud-of-you!' smile and lifted her hand; Finn slapped it five and beamed back at her. So what if she'd seemed distracted at lunch? At least she was paying some real attention to him now.

"All right, guys, if you'll remember, our assignment this week is 'passion.' We have a fun duet by Quinn and Sam lined up next." Mr. Schue clapped his hands together excitedly.

The blond couple took center stage of the room; Quinn had changed from her school outfit into a slinky fire-engine-red dress with matching lipstick, smoky eye-shadow, and her long blond hair left cascading in loose curls. Sam had changed from his standard purple hoodie and jeans into a pair of black dress pants and a nice red button-down shirt with a black tie.

"A bit too cutesy for me in the matching ensembles aspect of it, but they look great," Rachel whispered to Finn. He nodded in agreement.

Puck, however, stationed in a chair on the top row, between Santana and Tina, was shaking his head back and forth. It shouldn't be Sam standing there in a cheesy outfit that went with Quinn's smoking hot dress; it should've been _him!_ And why did Quinn have to look so breathtakingly beautiful, anyway? It took everything in him not to march right down there and pull her into his arms to give her a long, sensual kiss that would make everyone really understand the meaning of the word 'passion.'

The music started and Quinn and Sam launched into their simplistic but smooth choreography, doling out a few moves that would have been impressive on their own but were made even more so by the fact that Quinn was wearing three-inch black stiletto heels and Sam was in a pair of shiny black shoes that were a far cry from his standard sneakers.

Quinn's soft soprano and Sam's clear voice were practically tailor-made for the sultriness of the song. Their alternating lines flowed effortlessly, and the parts where they sang in unison couldn't have been better harmonized.

There was one part, on one of the powerful intonations of declaring the word '_Fee-vah!_,' where Sam twirled Quinn so fast that her long dress spun around her in a whirlpool of silky, sparkly red, making her almost look as if she herself were catching on fire from the passion. To top it off with that twirl, Sam spun Quinn to an impressively non-shaky halt at his side and Quinn threw one of her long legs way up, the tip of her heel pointed at the side of her head in a perfect high-kick. Sam effortlessly caught her leg by the ankle, locking it in place up high, and Quinn spun on the tip of her foot that was still planted on the ground before bringing her other leg down and landing in a split.

The rest of the dance featured more cat-and-mouse-style twirling Quinn in and out of Sam's arms, and the ending pose was Sam dipping Quinn low to the floor, bringing his lips down to hers for a kiss that wasn't long but was fierce enough to smear her lipstick across his jaw.

The Glee Clubbers erupted into applause, cheers and whistles and joking catcalls. Mr. Schue couldn't have looked any prouder. Sam and Quinn locked hands and took a bow together, their faces positively beaming.

Puck was the only one not giving into the applause, but rather sitting there stoically with his arms crossed, glaring at the couple. Not that anyone noticed him. Well, Quinn's eyes did dart over to him for just a second, but then she was turning back to Sam and, giggling, pointing out that her lipstick had rubbed off on him.

"Bravo! Bravo!" Mr. Schue cheered. "_Excellent_ job, you guys! Whoever goes next is going to have a hard time following that up. Or maybe we'll be lucky and your _fever_ for this assignment will be caught by everyone here!"

Santana and Lauren groaned at his lame joke.

_They did a fabulous job,_ thought Rachel. _They really did, and I'm proud of them. But just everyone wait and see until I debut my original song! _Then_ everyone will be _really_ impressed._

Finn turned his eyes toward Rachel, saw that she was wearing that trademark Rachel Berry look of 'I have a plan.'

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"You'll just have to wait and see," she said. "Let's just say, I have a surprise coming up that I think will have everyone look at me in a whole new way."

"Oh no," Finn said, biting down on his lower lip. "You're not going to sing a song that involves a striptease so you can beat Quinn and Sam in their sexy routine, are you?"

Rachel laughed. "God, no!"

"Good." Finn breathed a sigh of relief.

_Nope, Finn, I'm merely collaborating with Jesse St. James to pen the next greatest hit,_ Rachel thought, feeling a bit of unwanted guilt creeping into her system. _Which I guess, to you and the Glee Club, is actually considered far more scandalous than a striptease.  
_

* * *

Will ran into Emma on his way out to the teachers' parking lot.

"Hey, Will!" she greeted, pulling the strap of her crocodile bag, faux-leather and emerald-green, further up her slender shoulder. Her smile was sunny enough to melt away the polar ice caps.

Will's heart gave a squeeze at her beauty, at how she radiated such joy. "Hello, Emma." They fell into step down the staircase leading to a pair of double-doors made of glass.

"How was your day?" she inquired.

"It was nice, thanks." He noticed that his tone was a bit stiff. It was just so hard to act completely casual and happy-go-lucky around her, when all he could think about was how she was married to a guy who should be him.

"Could you believe Sue?" Emma giggled. "I think you offering up that bet was the best thing that could have happened to…well…_everyone!_"

Will had to smile at that. "Yeah, it was pretty…different. Good different. But we both have to hope she won't be able to keep it up for long. Or else, we can kiss affording Nationals, _and_ my hair good-bye."

Emma reached over and ruffled Will's tight curls. A smile, soft and affectionate, tugged at her red lips. "No, we certainly wouldn't want that."

Will's heart gave a painful squeeze at her touch.

They had now reached the double-doors; Will held one of them open for Emma. "After you, milady," he said in a fancy voice, bowing deeply at his waist and sweeping out his arm.

Emma dissolved into giggles and curtsied at him before walking outside. She was so adorable that Will almost couldn't stand it. "Why thank you, kind sir!" She brought her hand over her heart and fluttered her long eyelashes.

"Anytime, anytime." Will chuckled and followed after her, out to the parking lot.

"You know, Will, I talk about you to Carl all the time," said Emma. "I tell him all the funny things you say, and now he's convinced you're a riot."

Wait…Emma talked about Will all the time? To her husband, of all people? Despite himself knowing it was nothing, it made Will's heart soar with joy as a goofy grin tugged at his mouth.

"Me? A riot? I can't even tell knock-knock jokes well enough to earn a chuckle."

"That's because knock-knock jokes are almost never funny."

They'd reached Emma's car; Will's was just a bit further down. She unlocked the driver's door and pulled it open. But rather than climb in, she turned to face Will. The sunlight brightened her auburn hair to a beautiful tint of golden-red; her bright green eyes were positively neon, dazzling from the bright rays.

"I was wondering if you would like to join Carl and me for dinner this Saturday," she said, squinting against the sun. She brought her flattened hand over her eyebrows as a shield. "I'll cook my famous meatloaf. We can watch a movie, or play a board game or something. It'll be fun!"

Will couldn't think of anything _less_ fun than spending an evening watching the woman he loved flirting with another man who had more claim to her than he did. The thought made him have to fight back a grimace from storming across his face. "Uhm…"

"Look, I know it might seem like it'll be awkward, but you're my best friend, so I'll make sure you're not a third wheel."

Damn, she was good; her calling him her 'best friend' really made Will soften. But still….

"I dunno…"

"Oh, come on, Will, _pleeeaaassseee?_" She brought her folded hands beneath her dainty chin, widened her already naturally-wide eyes, and jutted out her lower lip. No! Not the puppy dog pout! _Anything_ but the puppy dog pout!

But it was too late; Will was now putty in Emma's well-moisturized hands.

"Uhhh…okay. Fine. But on one condition."

"Anything!" Emma squealed, jumping up and down and clapping her hands a few times.

"You have to bake your delicious apple-strudel-pie as well."

"It's a deal!" Emma pecked Will on the cheek before getting into her car. "We can go over the rest of the plans tomorrow during lunch."

"Uh-huh," Will said, dazed.

And so he walked to his car, his hand periodically returning to brush fingertips against the warm spot of his cheek Emma's perfect lips had graced. All he could think to himself was: _What have I done?_

He now voluntarily had to spend an evening with Mr. and Mrs. Carl Howell.

Yep, he was definitely a masochist.


End file.
